Prose Poem: The pontoon boat.

 

I've always wanted to explore

Marmalade Lake in a boat;

to see the glaciers falling into the bays,

the brigand birds diving for bluegills,

and the sun reflected off the Crystal Isles.

I finally got my chance when a Friend

invited me up to his cabin on Marmalade

for a boat ride and picnic.

We set sail just after dawn in his pontoon boat.

The weather was magnificent; high clouds

and moderate temperatures, with a 

sweet smelling breeze out of the southwest.

The hydrometer said we were seven hundred

feet above sea level.

The storm blew up suddenly

while we were netting driftwood.

It caught us by surprise.

"I have been here before"

my Friend said, refusing to take

any measures to save us or the boat.

"We drown and our bodies are slowly

eaten by kelp."

"Well, I've never been here before!"

I screamed at him as the waves towered

over us.

"I'm getting us out of here!"

I took the wheel and put the motor

into reverse, then extended the outrigger

pontoons on both sides.

We rode out the storm, soaked to the bone,

and I managed to guide us back to my

Friend's boathouse. 

After changing clothes

we ate our delayed picnic

in my Friend's baronial dining hall.

There were Irish harps playing.

It had onyx tapestries hung 

on the walls and vintage chalk Kewpie

dolls displayed in rosewood cabinets.

We did not mention what happened

on Marmalade Lake.

But my friend insisted on giving me

an original Picasso sketch, drawn

on a brand new tablecloth from the

Els Quatre Gats Cafe in Barcelona.

I use it to polish my brown Florsheims. 

Which I always wear when I 

walk among the living.