Today's poem is by William Greenway


You either have one
or you don't, get dragged
to shore or swept out to sea.
Lucky diabetics and drunks
know him, see him hover near
their comas-beach-browned,
sun-streaked hair, strong-shouldered,
he's bored in his lonely, rickety tower
in the top of your head,
watching wave after wave
frothing on shore.

He tabulates your breast-stroke, your
breathy heartbeat. (Once
in Piccadilly Circus, getting off a bus,
I started to step into the street
when something stopped me,
and the speeding black taxi only
fluttered the front of my shirt.)
But he sees you drift
a little farther out each year until
one day you're so gone
in an eternity of warm Gulf Stream
the big blue-that waking from his drowse,
he doesn't even bother to grab
his float and begin to run.

Copyright © 2009 William Greenway All rights reserved
from Southern Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!

Home    Archives   Web Monthly Features    About Verse Daily   FAQs  Submit to Verse Daily   Publications Noted & Received  

Copyright © 2002-2009 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved