Day Two: ‘A Lake With Gates’

April 2, 2013

Feet, cold feet, hang dizzy from the dock.

In wait below lie gray water and brine —

a bag tied in the middle, thick with twine.


The name evokes cool charm, pink-painted homes

and sophisticated fault. A thousand breeds

of dog nose up your pant legs. Each bench needs


a thicker coat from dew-sagged morning breaths.

Ego remains the king crab of the square

in stomping loafers and receding hair.


The loot’s afoot — check anchors on front doors

and Sunfish inking the lake’s stark blue gleam.

Big Rick’ll rent you fishing rods, which seem


sturdy, but crack like old knees. Your summer

and life cast latent lines, if marks at all.

But lake life always withers in the fall.


3 Responses to “Day Two: ‘A Lake With Gates’”

  1. N. Scott Greene said

    Reblogged this on The TinHead Emporium and commented:
    Trying to keep pace with this man for the month of April. One poem behind so expect a Double Day.

  2. Alex H said

    That’s a very cool poem. And so true too.

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