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Poem: Water Front 

River, I cling to you
murky mirage
slow, scintillating curves

Limbless lover,
all body with a soft spot
for seedy cities

Boot in the mud,
unsown

I used to come to you
at dusk, watch you sidle up
lick little rocks mixed with beer tabs and butts

Sky flushes, dips behind the tall hedge, rolling
Gauze of grey-blue smoke

Shore up your lullabies

tired tapping on wood
jet skis rubbing out streams on your skin
tipsy slosh over the bar's bobbing black hull
parking lot fragments in a plastic box

Here there is no water, only rock
No swimming, no drinking, no rite or ritual
From above, I imagine how the desperate will die
bones crushed against concrete,
an ebb catching the light

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Janine Stankus.

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