Monday, February 25, 2008

THEY WANT IT

by Dale Goodson


we don’t

in the bow
drifting through silver slippers

not involved in totals
not in subtotals

our fingertips
busy
leaving trails in the lake

we drum on the sides
with heels and palms
that other sound
that violent pounding

not ours

a duck feather drifts by
like a ticket
we take our seats fore and aft

the sky explodes

some of it theirs
some of it the melting sun

we look at each other

the water smells great
someone could take a big gulp and down we’d go

but
not right now

right now
we kiss each other’s foot
right now
two flies beat it around our heads

hey bombardment
hey wooden boat

we float and swat and sing
who wouldn’t
in the pink rooster tail
of day


Dale Goodson is a writer from Seattle currently living in New York City and working as a homeless outreach worker in Times Square. He recently created his own website.
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