boat basin

sunday evening and the red smeared sun slowly hides behind the jersey skyline.  we sit close to the water watching boats bob and wait for our food.  at a neighbor table, a burley man flicks translucent shells off his shrimp.  fat fingers pop them into his hole and the process begins again.  and again.  our nachos arrive; the smell of microwaved cheese nauseates.  but the breeze from the stretch of water soon clears it all away.  mosquito friends visit my legs and leave their marks of affection - one too many.  now monday afternoon, and i'm unable to stop the itching.  had i known i would've passed on the night, retired early with a book instead.