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.