“this is a poem,”
i told her as we bobbed along
with our heads just barely above
the windswept surface of the lake
and the storm lurching closer
across the hills and the hollers.
“i can smell the dirt in the water
and the water in the air,”
she marveled.
“and it just ain’t the same up there.”
we breathed deep and laughed over snakes and slime and sharp shale
and watched the steam rise
and the rain roll in.
“this is a poem,”
i said.
“but i can’t figure out
how to compare WASPS
and waspers.”