Somewhere beneath the waters
of another dream washing the day off
I slumber through the dark, uncertain night.
What is life but a series
of best guesses, sailors choosing a course
without stars guiding them? We swim,
arms flailing, struggling to keep our heads
above the salty tides pulling us
somewhere – better?
With the sun I’ll break free of this repose,
swim this way – or that
way – guessing at an island paradise
I can almost see beyond the reach
of my freestyle fingers, stretched straight
like they taught me. I’ll keep kicking,
keep moving, keep ahead
of the currents – but for now I rest
my weary legs, my arms.
I think it was the ocean – brilliant waters
me loose from my dull reality –
that spared a glimpse, or at least
a brief broken specter into
the dancing fancies of scrambling crabs
scuttling sideways for
an admiring female with discerning tastes
of garlic butter and lemon.
I know it was the crab – drumming pincers
me loose from my imagination –
that clutched my big toe in claws
unable to feel pain, and, appreciating the irony,
I retreated to the Fish Shack
to taste delicious revenge among
the garlic crab legs.
Viewed through a keyhole, a speedboat
provides the escape we’ve been looking for,
churning along the waves,
engine chewing water,
consuming miles in the offing, leaving only this
view through a keyhole, a speedboat
– eyes growing smaller