Drift

After leaving home and school
and Seminary Avenue, I float
my pallet down the Rahway River, escort
to stately grim Persephone,
twenty-five and she's just got braces,
pock-scars covered with foundation,
magenta pony-tail, black-framed glasses,
jogging bra, skull tattoo, pencil skirt and lace-up boots,
and creeping from a leather satchel
her soiled memoir notes.

We drift past Merck and Exxon,
a single gleaming green
our Northern Lights, time
a broken bird-wing, spleen
the steam that drives us on.
I show her I've saved the dime
struck with her startled profile
and plunge the rubber gag-pole
I use for navigation.
It seems we'll never reach our destination.

Sure, I've learned a tricky back-rub,
shiatsu and aikido, while she
waves hands like clouds, brings tai-chi
and yoga. But honestly, we spend our time
just camping at the bar, the clothesline
strings a canopy, plastic palms drop
cigar stubs like coconuts, mulch spills
from rubber tubs, and overhead
our shadows circle like lazy seagulls
while we trade tales from childhood.

Copyright © 2007 John Hennessy All rights reserved
from Bridge and Tunnel
Turning Point
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission