The Final Rock
Oval
Orange speckled rock
As large as a giant dinosaur egg
Sat in the scratchy field out back
Of our lakeside A-Frame cottage
Next to McLaughlin’s orchard of cherries
Where honeybees are fanned to clover fields
And Torch Lake swings below
From the corners of the hills
Like a hammock spilling of sapphires.
I suppose this giant rock had rolled for millennia
In the blue pouch of a Great Lakes glacier
Before dropping with a thud and a scar
Right here
Warmed in the sun for another 20,000 years
Unhatched unmoved even an inch
After travelling for hundreds of excruciating miles.
I climbed atop this rock as a thin teenager
Cartoon lizard drawn from the crayon of sun
Chest hard
Hair long and curly
Tongue sharp as an elbow
I must have strummed
A hundred thousand chords from my Washburn guitar
Atop that rock
Trying to find the perfect melody
About sex and forever.
I loved a Florida girl named Wendy
Who read her Harlequin
And whistled tunes to REO Speedwagon.
She read my poems over and over
Folding them in her bikini.
Upon my surprise visit today
With my feet clamped in their wing-tipped shoes
And a dick tucked away more like an after thought
The A-Frame is plowed under
Those fields are stacked with empty condos
Honey bees a legend
But Torch Lake remains painted with tall blue sky
The rock still unhatched next to it
Waiting
After all my few years
A lean
Of my shoulder into its unmovable ache
I step from the land
I slide into the lake.
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