freaks on the pier
and a shriveled up lime from Margaritaville...
Like a sunset escape artist
turning blue and spitting
while behind him bobs a big white boat...
Three stories high
where seagulls fly
stalled where the lifeboats swing-
Leans a man, and his lei, and his wide brimmed hat
looking down at all that mud...
Originally appears in a 1998 edition of the HazMat Literary Review