morning poem, November 8, 2016



This morning there is traffic on the river

The first boat pushes a barge of coal

At the first lock the station man opens the gate

And the barge floats in like a cloud

It’s hollow thud against the walls echoes

Fading into the shush of shivering stream


Below the surface, fish are schooling upstream

The gar and the bass make their way to the high shallows

Where they will ruin their tails brushing away a year’s sediment

From the rocks in the riverbed

And their nests will be bright circles under the low water


Those who live by the banks watch the flow

Boys cast baited hooks and stand in the riffles

Outside of the boat channel

Geese come from above, honking as they splash onto a long, green pool


Copyright 2016

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