Spinach

Here is stuff the one-eyed sailor chomped
to pump his anchored forearms in Mozartean
percussive “strokin’s” every time he stomped
the roadhouse where the raucous crew were partyin’–
a Can o’ Donnybrook, and L’œil was tromped
by spinning pipe and fisty cuffs Descartian.
Or was it “sin” propelled the Popeye’s coil,
the acid green one soaked in olive oil?