Lake Sailors

ducks sit on the lap of the lake

its banks overflow with each ripple
mud feet stir up the bottom
rat tails cover its neck...
we sail on logs lashed together
with weeping willow vines
too young to break when bent,
the murkey waters conceal the
cotton mouths whose heads are
barely visible as they move effortlessly
through the water chasing our wake,
sunshine skips along the water's surface
like flat stones do when tossed...
we see the edges of lightening as
it connects to the skies from the
electrified ground on which the
reeds stand as tall as they can...
nature's mother calls out to us, we
brave sailors of three...  spread out
so we balance each other and not
ready to get wet even though the
burns through our clothes...
adventurers we are this day and the day
before and many more before them,
our bags of lunch are in a bag that
surely the sun has warmed for us
and melted the chesse slices, freshly
cut frm the wedge that was cut the wheel
our mother asked the butcher for,
a few days ago while we sat in the car
becaue we were misbehaving at the barbers.
one the shore the three of us are
sweaty but dry and more hungry than
ever because of all the paddling.

28 March 2023