me and the Wharf Rat
watched her, loaded,
trailing zig-zag behind her man
across the wharf,
and the Old Man said,
"looks like a water rescue ahead,"
and I said, "shit, he liquored her up,
let him fish her out,"
and then we heard the splash,
and the scream,
as liquor met the wet
of a cold stream;
and the Rat went for
a skiff while my mind
was adrift, watching
the guy dive to try
to keep her alive;
and he came up with
her, gurgling,
gasping;
and the Old Man
said, "what a
waste of good
whiskey," and I said,
"well, he knew it'd be a
little risky, near
the water, and he
oughta thought ahead,"
and we stared at
her screaming at
him, glad that we
hadn't opted to
call it in, but just
as glad that she
wasn't dead;
just another
Saturday night
on the waterfront
neighborhood:
nothing funny,
and little good.
October 23, 2011.
Copyright © 2011, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
