She opened with a small bar,

Some stools, tables & matching chairs,

She served what she could find as well as whom,

Most of her clientele of the French Jamaican variety,

But that’s okay, we all got along well, in her place there was never gloom.

None of us knew her real name, so we called her Blu,

It seemed fitting with the name of the establishment,

So she started out quite small, except on weekends,

That was time when money was to be made, stocking her shelves,

Kept her going for another week, it was her businesses glue.

She bartended & waited on tables, though she had no food,

Pretzels to help keep the “marks” thirsty, keep them playing their cards,

And losing to each other or the house helped her bottom line,

She decorated with all sorts of whatever she could find,

Especially after a bar fight, usually between local bards.

When first we met I owned and lived at my marina,

A small grouping of docks, flat bottom garvey boats,

Usually rented to the hungover patrons of the Cage,

 But it kept me in cheap rum & something minor to eat,

And marina ownership kept me at the very least a business owner,

She wanted to rent an all-day fishing boat which I could easily supply,

I would be the captain with one or two of my Jamaican “boys”, setting lines & such.

Most of her patrons would end the day sleeping on deck or being sick due to the swells,

We would cast off at 6am, navigate into the Gulf before the sun got hot,

Then we would anchor out over a wreck, and the fishing, such as it was would begin.

© -ed- 7/1/20