River Street, Savannah Georgia.
River Street, Savannah, Georgia.
Over ancient cobblestones
hobble the foot bones of tourists trekking,
down sharp inclines to shopaholic heaven.
Scraggly street musicians practice safe sax,
fret over their Git-fiddles, or jiggle jazz
from tarnished trumpets.
This is a place where pirates and strumpets,
once staggered by in a rum soaked haze,
or strutted their wanton wares,
through the shore locked mists.
Now El Cheapo beers and fresh oysters,
are shucked and suckled in dark taverns,
amidst curio shops and galleries.
occasionally a luxury hotel intrudes,
with its rude edifice,
so out of place in the time warp.
It is a memory lane for me,
from years back as one of the many
Marines gone wild!
I devoured lifes bounty here,
brews and blues in patent leather shoes,
Spicy jambalaya and gin-laced papaya juice,
plus some southern comfort,
laced in bright pastel summer dresses,
ocean blue eyes and blond drenched tresses.
All granted me a temporary reprieve,
before my return to an uglier port,
barracks bound on standby alerts,
during the late Vietnam conflict.
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