4949. AT NEW SMYRNA

AT NEW SMYRNA

Never. Never. Not the light nor the dark ever.

Nothing mannered in the way of old matrons

skimming along in yesterday's Summer dress, 

or those crazy old guys with white shoes and 

dark eyes. Never. Never.

-

I parked the docking where the wharf begins,

shelling some pineapples and a bit for the

cranberry vodka as well. Two dons came over,

smelling of death and its lotion, just to ask,

'Had I seen Monty Varese?'  I hadn't ever

heard the name before, and said so then.

-

Once there was a Cinderella girl, in white lace

and some slippers too. She was lost at sea  -  or

so we were told  -  and never seen again. The 

skipper atop that fine ship was a lecher, but it 

rested. Solid stories sometimes do hold up.