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Poem

If gold coins and silver dollars
Could turn hollow and float
On the quivering skin of Torch Lake

July backstroke of jingle
Belly rings nipple rings
This would be it

Drowning Japanese Beetles
Tossed by handfuls to the surface water
From jewelry boxes kept by robbers

What better way to give it back?
Bringing justice to generations
Of those who’ve always wondered

What exactly happened to my keepsakes?

Sky
Lake
I am cut in half at my cold waist

Like a poor boy on a rural road
Who’s come across a tipped over Brinks truck
Coughing in the hot dust
Of swimming nickels and pennies

I look around

Then wade through my newfound riches
My beggar’s palms
Scoop up the reflections

Collect to the dock bits and pieces
Of the struggling metallic creatures
And wisps of cloud sun and wind

A stirring gaudy pile
Grows of second chances
To be picked over by my kids

Who say “Eweee. Yuck. and Beautiful.
Daddy
You are a pirate. Captain Bly!”

Ey
I don’t know why I do these little things
Saving these treasures

As coin by coin takes wing
Flies away
To my kids’ great wonder.

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