The Hip Boots

Two footsteps lengthened out of dark
hung from the cellar rafters stranded
waders stayed there years jumped into
by nightmares to ride the black
o'clocks. These were the overseer's
a noise behind me a grip at the base
of the spine I could not throw. Bossed
by deep water the stream’s muscles
tightening for a dunk I lost my
breath asleep and gulped bulged
draughts unexpelled unbalanced floated
to the next flume’s cough feet stamped
kicked into a rapid’s braids a jack
of water sheathing to my crotch.

^

Biography

I have been published in Spelunker Flophouse, and Sunstone among others, and have been in one poetry workshop for fifteen years and another one for two years. I am retired and am active in Quaker work locally, and teach Latin and Greek as an avocation.