Personal Residency In Riverfront Housing
Yacht tutelage, beams of shoulder-length
Waves striking at the chipped tin-roof
Of ornament—brief depiction of the ceaseless
Rainouts in a solitary landscape. Of roses
We chatter, no immunity, melting in water
Pelting into foregrounds of secular speech-
Impediment, her breasts and his toupee,
The millionth renovation up for grabs.
To live in Maine would have the direct
Consequence of beautifying flesh-riddled
Fish nets, stalking slicker-kept fishermen
With their gummy sea fingers and passion
For sea air. Jet-lagged outback with rain
Fronts appeasing an early bird alarm. Two-ton
Seagulls barking at a semi automatic fog.
A poet, a directed poet, finessing these
Lines the poet within me necessitates
Beautifying all that is close—and in
Front of those kelp-riddled planks,
Gnarled to museum Odyssean perfection,
Stands a silhouette of greater than
The realistic, according to my way
Of viewing things in Maine.
In a sallow, shivering, stone clad afternoon,
To throw oneself into wave stalks striking at
A chipped tooth; thrown into a breathy
Tide, with the clipped unwanted scallops,
Scattered crumbs of solace based on
Rhythmic wave-speech: sea fingers
And a passion for work, in Maine.
To throw oneself into one’s work,
To throw myself into beautification,
Serendipitous, shallow, cowardly
Kept in a littered Nabokovian cottage
Where the strawberry girls run wild
Through systemized Kmart sprinklers.