(it's good to get away)
236 Lake Drive, Willow Beach
the lake whispered while I dozed
above the outboard motor coughing at 2.5 hp
below striped bass slipping through wood planks and the sun:
‘the clams hold their secrets in the clay cement’ and
‘the water you piss in is the air they breathe’
Bono the dog shakes dry on the dock
annoyance too casual to embellish
funny, I tell his owner, don’t let him shit on our grass.
rhythm of a life, something worth living
until the sharp September mornings
stenches of mink on death hunts
ripping crayfish to ribbons, casting skulls along the rocks
lost in the sunset and whitecaps
are 25 years of returning,
reconvening at the lake, we wash afresh
and dig up worms, hope for an interesting catch
I must repair the tree house this summer
—it blows down one night in a windstorm—
because kids need a high place to launch water balloons
and pelt each other with crab apples
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