Paddling a Canoe
Their canoe zigzagged
as a snake. They enjoyed,
splashing water. They were
bold before the maelstrom.
‘Those days are gone, dear.’
He whispers, and she nods.
Their canoe floats on the
silver wavelets. They stare
at a local gym’s advertising
flex-board with pictures of
skinned chickens in various
poses to attract youngsters.
Libraries have turned desolate
cemeteries. Muscles of minds
decay. She reads aloud Bacon,
‘Reading maketh a Full Man.’
A smile radiates his wizened
visage while paddling. Speed
and sound of new generation
boats scare them. Their canoe
shivers. Now they block their
nostrils. Fanaticism and
intolerance are more stinky
than the rotten coconut shells.
They find around muddy-red.
‘
First printed in The Literary Hatchet
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