ring

....Greta finished her second cigarrette.
(actually they were filtered mini-cigars,
same size, same amount in a pack, yet only a buck thirty nine,
and if you don't puff on them, they go out.)

The dog had hopeful eyes.

Greta got out of bed.
She rolled up the sleeping bags and blankets, storing them behind the bookshelf that served as a room divider.

The foam pieces were re-arranged against the wall, into chair fashion.
Dog was beginning to nip at her ankles,
as she finished tucking the edges of the chinese silk coverlet under the corners of her 'chair.'

All was, "ship shape," she thought.

"Oh my lands!," she cried out loud,remembering...
"I was supposed to be at pier seven an hour ago."

Greta gently unfastened the two bunjie cords that held her ancient small fridge
door closed.
She quickly swallowed several raw oysters and some milk.
Before shutting and re-fastening the door, she remembered to add some oysters to Dog's
dry kibble.

She was dressed and out the door in two minutes.
Fumbling for the note in her bag and another smoke,
she chanted..."Pier 7, pier 7, pier 7....and the name of the boat is,is,is
ah, here's the note!"

The wry grin she wore,
tasted of salt,
but eh, oh hey,
everything 'round this part of town,
was brine tinged.

After awhile, it was hard to tell the difference between tears,
blood,
sweat,
and fish.