Poetry

Ferry

By

Hell, it feels like nothing
is carrying you across
 
like you’re packed in bulrush 
 
following the river forward 
or a motor with its little propeller  
 
propped out of the water 
in back of the boat 
 
staring up at easy beauty 
and thinking of those lines 
 
that push one planet 
 
this way and pull another that
why should your foot 
 
feel for the mainland
or your hand napkin up the gunk 
 
your boots won’t leave behind 
hear the river? It says
 
easy does it, feel no pain 

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