On the Waves

A day in the water seems to be every land-dweller's fetish.

Just this morning I was readying myself for nothing but
A day of reading and coffee, making sure the empty-self
Never becomes a breathing being as long as I can help
It, and getting along in my plan, when a reckoning went
A-wrecking.

Pretty soon I had woeful tears pouring from the missus, who
Didn't quite consider my caffeined affair with many books
Something worthy of our anniversary, and counted it
But righteous for me to come along with the family on
The escapade to water.

Never been one to allow pain to fester and grow raw and
Gangrenous, I said my peace, packed my pertinents, kissed my now
Soothed wife, and proceeded to help get things set for the short trip
To water, not neglecting to have along my lone D.H.
Lawrence collection.

My father-in-law took the wheel and made erratic work of
The business of driving as I pored over fluctuations
Of mediocre and quite stellar poetry.

The resort turned out to be a pleasing place. Aviaries
Housing an African Grey and another large green mimic
Proved distracting. Also, a stuffed Barn Owl, perched pretty on a
Column, reminded guests that birds, once dead, may be made a queer
Centerpiece, but not so with them. So after picking pockets,
Payments were made, tickets were snapped off, and we made our way through
Inspection on to our cottage.

The brisk walk over to our designated cranny was a
Parade of eyes that bounced off from one face to another and
Back to mine, with the occasional look back or twice; but I
Was trying to focus on the water and integrity-
Keeping, doing a good job of it another matter.

I took off my casual apparel, revealing pseudo-trunks,
And showered off whatever it is that management thinks is
Showered off pre-dippy then, done with that, jumped off to six-feet.

There were many with the same neurosis, and the pools were packed
With itch-scratchers and fetish-feeders.

But I cared little: I had washed off tears with water.