Rough Crossing
Half a mile from the shore
boats turn into diving fish,
the sky roars by
derailed by the horizon.
The Lake Erie ferry
skims the crashing crests
rises as a seagull,
scooping up the flying spray.
We passengers go below
abandoning the deck
to the scouring winds.
Children are gathered up
into protective huddles.
I catch my reflection,
my grin is fixed and stiff.
The skipper calls out:
this is normal for the time of year!
The tense mood of the cabin calms.
My jaw aches
for the rest of the day.
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