Our little arm of the Rockcastle River was small
and just the right shallowness to drive through.
The locals did it for years–yeehaw across the creekbed
right next to the small gully where we’d swim
and wave at those who passed in their familiar cars.

Sometimes a water snake and mosquito bugs.
Once, the torso of a young buck bobbed downstream.
Both playground and portal to Jackson County,
this water baptized my grandfolk’s church–
but now it’s the site of a low-height bridge.