We returned to our boat
after two weeks:
swallows and spiders
had staked their claim.
Very messy spiders
and very poopy birds
had left wind-kotted webs,
guano, and all the
insect corpses and loose debris
that could befoul a boat
sitting in full dark red canvas
at its roofed slip
beside the boathouse.
If you had been watching
from along the shore
you would have thought
I was Don Quixote
again battling a virtual
enemy with a virtual sabre:
I flailed and swung my arms
and opened up and shook out
and dumped overboard
nothing you could see
but finally got us under way.
The boat is ours again,
but the real cleanup
will have to wait;
I’m taking names, though.
