by Glen Martin Fitch

"We won't get lost."
He says and I,
"Or sink? Or drown?"
I trust him.
"Hey, we'll have some fun."
("And how did I get into this?"
I think.)
Our journey cross the river
has begun.
("What will I do to be with him?"
I scoff)
"You hold the side for me
and I'll for you."
We're in!
"Sit still!"
and with a thrust we're off.
The gliding calms
the trembling canoe.
"You paddle on the left."
I clutch my oar.
"And not too deep
and not too fast."
(I guess, "You're thinking
what I'm thinking...")
I suppress a groan.
He jokes:
"Tomorrow we'll be sore."
what if he loves me
a little more than I love him
or worse, a little less?")


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011