A sea town, or close
enough, where some
days brine settles
on the hills, lingers in
alleys, a sea breeze,
at least a sea smell–
not unpleasant,
though the gulls
get trashy here,
stooping around
to compete with crows,
and some days like
now the sun doesn’t
come up, just the overall
gray brightens and fades,
and, sure, it gets rough–
but these pockets
of salt help to
elevate the sense
of place, refining
streets where
day-drunk men
argue as they load
up a truck behind
the bar,
the touch of far
on near, an unseen
ocean rising up
against the usual
milieu of old grease
and piss.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
You paint such beautiful pictures.
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Damn, I wish I had written this!!! : ) This is wonderful. There is so much in it…the brine settles…the salt threading…phrases like day-drunk. The shock of the last stanza is visceral. I love it.
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Thanks!!
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