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The River of Comfort
Down the river
Far from the emptied swimming pools
Far from skateboards
Down the cold, foaming river
Sitting, reclined in a floating rubber tire
Skin tanned from summer sun
T-shirt stained from farm work
Dirt, mud, sticks, fire
All muddle your shirts colors
Your mouth full of smoke
In your hand, a rolled paper smoke
In your top coat pocket, three more stand
Resting like bullets in the chamber
The sides of your coat, dripping wet
Dragging behind you in the water
There you sit
Farmlands can be seen in both eyes
Yellow grass, red barns
White silos with blue caps
Green tractors
There in those barns
Moonshine is made
Squeezed from the fruits of autumn
There, in those barns
Secret plants are grown
Little laboratories are set up
A mix of white doctors tables
And the smell of hay
The river keeps pulling you forward
The sky blue like deep water
Clouds with foamy shapes
Metal can of lemon juice in your spare hand
Its sharp lid bent to one side
Cold with ice that jingles like pocket keys
This is a good trip
Not psychedelic or anything
Just calm
Just relaxed
Just right for floating
Fish underneath you
Swimming against the current
Their bodies the color of clay
The rocks around them
The same color but covered with snails
Moss green snails
Plate sized painted turtles paddle along
Their eyes striped with yellow
Their shells the color of dried pumpkin fire
A puff off your wrapped paper smoke
A new wave of sleepy muscles
Of new ideas and new questions
But mostly of calm enjoyment
Another puff as you keep floating down
The river goes for miles more, so you will too
Copyright ©
Philip Preston
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