The poem catches a small domestic scene: Al Ryder watches his three-year-old son playing on the living room carpet, singing "DA DA DAs" and "Dee Dee Dees" into a toy tape recorder. The carpet becomes a sea, and the boy a sailor trawling it. Then Ryder turns to his daughter, spinning her around in a game of ring-around-the-rosy, and starts reciting wild, learned-sounding nonsense about schooners, kidney chops and obscure ancient peoples.
The speaker mostly observes, with affection and a dry sense of humor. The father's chant is showy and ridiculous, a grown man playing with language the way his kids play with sounds. The boy, though, isn't impressed. He "drops his anchor and glares," as if his own performance has been upstaged. "Daddy ain't done," the poem says, and the father keeps going.
The ending is a small, funny shock: the little girl bites his nose and draws blood. The mood is playful and warm, with a bite of sibling rivalry and a hint that even silly performances can cost something.