Neon Mariners

The cha cha bar was sliding and we swan across the


Scotchman on the rocks (so many rocks . . .


and glass and sand.) In shock we docked in


fish head harbour where the lights were dimmed.


(Locked in, we couldn't see a thing . . . )


The floors was tin, the sky was oil, the air was


poisoned lager and the juke box pumped out


schlager because no-one pulled the plugs


(so many plugs . . . and sparks.) The live wives kept us dancing.


Dance in brine, dance in seaweed.