I think the thought before
it can turn into fruit. I eat the apple before
the tree can grow. I polish the wood before
it can become the boat.
In these ways I drink bitter
tea with someone falsely familiar and we laugh
at all the silly people dancing next
door ages behind us.
↕
↕
↕
With asinine assurance I plunge the iron
rod into the row boat’s back and
contemplate the last act of Hamlet.Clots of wood form
around my feet. I look down.
Where has the dock gone?
&
It becomes a list of things I need to come to terms with:
- falling
trees that didn’t tell anyone (nor you) they would fall - tilted
houses that tell (just) you to go home - curved
wooden boats that sink despite you (desperately!) (& often) asking them not to.
