A Poem 2: Under the Bridge

Oh, oh how the low waters flow

preparing, splitting, scraping

Below, cold rolled  stones split and grow

While over currents are warmths colliding

 

Your quick yell down the valley rips

In echoes as this aquaphobia insists

And the energy of offput kicks grips

Fluid like a mouth keeping mist

 

But your fear is deeper than the water

so we simply walk back to shore,

where I stare through a lukewarm puddle

at frogs making lazy love. They just sit

on each other for hours and every so often hop away and drag out a long chain

of fertilized eggs. This necessary excess to stack the statistics

is hidden in humans to

our disadvantage, to

our advantage, at

the very least our anxiety. I wasn’t anxious,

I was entertained.

Those two apes were going at it in the Animal Kingdom and that stereotypical Taiwanese tourist with the Hawaiian shirt and Japanese camera was laughing like a madman.

For youth, the source of anxiety and fixation.

                   The energy of worry.

                     The chubby kid from the grade below

me edges up into my vision and voyeuristically plants himself. We don’t dare meet eyes. Then you were done dipping your feet. We leave and have awkward teenage sex in my car in a parking lot, every so often checking if someone is watching.

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