two kids in the middle of the lake
arms on a sinking canoe slip and flail
wounding the water as they cry out
dropping my fishing pole I run
barefoot up the dock across
the lawn and yell at the house
“Dad, Papa . . . someone’s drowning”
our motorboat roars off
the bow rears like a horse
blue smoke trailing the churning wake
a boy my age is brought
and stretched out on the lawn
gasping and groaning eyes closed
same place I would lay my daily catch
of perch and bullheads some still
sucking air when I aimed my Polaroid
how could I feel what they felt?
lacking intimacy with most things
I was a child pushing a button
none of them lived
and he remains
badly out of focus
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