Dig it, Captain Jim
Regina’s Slushy was definitely spiked,
her eyebrows definitely painted on,
and her husband, definitely in crotch-high boots.
Every inch of your pontoon
moving down the river, one roasted
peanut after life lesson after the other—
one heron picking up after the other,
a jar of bubbles tossed overboard.
Captain Jim, where are your socks;
where is your sexist boss? The pontoon,
still, in a slip, a mini-marshmallow under
a chair, a baby blanket left behind,
passengers, the crew,
Pontoon and her river,
snoozing side by side.