On Saturday
We drove along thin country main roads
Towards the Poconos
Skully pushing on like a good old car would
(we've determined she's a
4th gear kinda gal)
When we got there
The four of us and
the old walrus looking dog
(his white whiskers resembling ivory tusks)
went to the man made beach with it's well built jetty.
The non blood brothers walking together- as boys would,
Talking incoherently about life,
A mere strip of rock and green wood.
The sisters would sit watching the squawking geese glide around the man
made lake.
Wondering all the while how the big fish got there-
Thinking of stealing one of the neighbors rowboats to get to the
middle of this large pond.
Hugh would later indicate
The fish got there most likely through a small
Stream that stretched from the dividing river but,
I could not understand how a trout could wiggle along in such shallow waters.
And so,
Us women in our girlie intuition would conclude,
(The old dog resting nearby)
That the fish must have been brought in,
(Imagining a 16 wheeler driving along
A one lane turnpike hoot hooting
Gallons of barrels of fish to be released into still water)
The geese seemed to start squawking in anger,
And, knowing the folklore of angry geese we all stood to leave,
The sun gleaming onto the rowboat reflection
Millions of hauled in fish finding their home along the
Ash wood colored landscape.
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2 days ago