at sea, on land, in canine and leaves

22 Aug

two ships nestled into their respective births
don’t have the same habit of dogs,
that oh so romantic smelling of asses,
to make sure each has its shit together
or to make sure each is terrible, lonely, imperfect,
and as a result
ripe for an encounter
all twisted up together
but anyway, I was talking about ships.

“don’t ya see baby,” says the more tattered of the two
bobbing and rocking every which way,
making a real spectacle of itself
a well deserved spectacle
like some vintage bottle of wine dancing on the shelf.

“my clinging,” continues the tattered,
“happens every year at this time,
during summer’s final joyride”

and right about then,
a wind picks up and
the nose of the newer ship rubs up on the tattered ships’s side.
the surrounding leaves appear in agreement,
changing colors ever so slightly.


3 Responses to “at sea, on land, in canine and leaves”

  1. The Baseball Bloggess August 22, 2015 at 11:06 am #

    I like how your poetry so often includes one thing that pops away from the rest of the words for me. (Whether you intended it to or not … or whether I’m just reading weird … no matter.)

    Today … “but, anyway, I was talking about ships.”

    It’s that little hop … that makes everything even more beautiful.

    • Steve Myers August 22, 2015 at 12:14 pm #

      Oh yes. thank you. The jump. There’s so much more walking until we get there when suddenly…. we’re there!

    • Steve Myers August 22, 2015 at 12:19 pm #

      Or not a jump. That’s too big. I prefer how you put it. “That little hop”

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