poetry

Moses of the Lake

I’d walked down to the lake
to get a bit of sunshine
to escape the chill
and the shade
of my thoughts
yesterday, he was there as well–
Moses
he’d stumbled down the sandy mount
a bottle-cap-litter beach
the debris
of stone’s hard-will
broken, by tides
never wearying
he’d been carrying
a forty-ounce beer
oblivious of onlookers
he walked knee-deep
into the green water
shouting unintelligibly
the lake painted a wavy mockery
of his inverted reflection
he raised his beer can
up
toasting a cloudless sky
and he tilted his head back
as he baptized himself
with the last drops
of God’s wishes
late summer’s sunshine
glistened
upon tilted tin

falling backwards
into the lake
arms outstretched
all was quiet again
but for a bit of drunken splashing
forgiveness comes in tall cans
these days
but it’s spent quickly
its lingering taste–
bitter-metal nihility

today
he’d been talking
to himself
on the small beach
his long, white beard whipped
and billowed
lifting in the breeze
as he muttered
I hadn’t thought much of it
we all talk to ourselves
sometimes
and some of us
write poems
instead


One of countless summer-camping poems. I’m done with winter. It can leave now.

Published by

Eric

I've come to write.

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