Port.

[purplejacket]

You peek overboard on the ferry to Manhattan, and see
a putrefied half fish. It flashes
its skeleton and undulates
with the waves while the water
obscures its sunken half
in blood and sewage.
Nearby, forsaken feathers
float like ghost ships, sullied just enough
to attract vomit from the man in brown coat
and greasily mottled pants next to you
when he flops his head over.
The resultant mixture
is then bottled and they call it...

---

previous version:
When you take the ferry to Manhattan,
you can look overboard and see
a putrefied half fish. It flashes its skeleton
and undulates with the waves.
The water obscures its sunken half
in blood and sewage. Nearby, forsaken feathers
float like ghost ships, sullied just enough
to attract vomit from the man in brown coat
and greasily mottled pants next to you
when flops his head over the edge.
The resultant mixture
is then bottled and they call it...

[Marion Poirier]

Amanda, this is well-written though kinda gross -
but that's life. I can appreciate the vivid imagery
until the last line. Is that really necessary?

I'm not the brightest bulb on the street, thank God,
intellectuals are such a bore - so I have to ask you -
what does the title mean?

I enjoy reading your work, and of course, my comments
are strictly biased.

Marion

[purplejacket]

Ever had port?