Port City walks of life,
Brick and old industry.
Pull Little Dogs from Great Bay.
Crushed ice by the pound
Keeps them on display.
Price liquor and ceviche
For the booze hounds.
I wonder how long
This waking life will last.
A snapshot, shuttering for a century,
A blur of tattoos and painted toenails,
Filter five hour long exposures.
A smoke and pancake.
Kettle One Martini straight up-
“Why is this shaken and strained?”
“The system made me choose a modifier”.
I have four draughts to draw
From a hydra headed tap.
When the back of the house shuts down
The front is soon to follow.
Count tilled treasure.
Smoke cigarettes trying to relieve the hunger.