JANA HAD HER HAT ON
Roustabouts and dangaloons,
we all remember finely. It was
starboard to the moon, and far
at sea were we. The ale and rum
were good; the food, though
meager, held its own as well,
though for solace we had nothing
but the meager tales we told each
other. Lies and derivations, mostly,
of other lies and derivations. Row,
row, row your boat, gently down
the stream? In all our dreams, as
one, Jana had her hat on.
-
She was a creature we'd all met
in old Rangoon; at least I think
that's where it was. Burma? What
do they call it now? We'd awake,
and the ship, still rocking along
its bottled sea, insisted on yet
keeping us afloat. We scratched
our heads, to think about if we'd
all had the same dream, but if it was
all forgotten, was it the selfsame
dream, or were we forgetting what
had not been?
-
Crackers? Way too many. Rum
and ale, I've mentioned. The
distance seas were always green,
adding to our tensions. And what
a way to go was this.
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