Doug Anderson: Poetry, A River

If you set out on it, raft or riverboat,
if you sound your way through
the sandbars and submerged barbed wire,
if you watch the crows riding
the floating corpses without despair,
if you unzip your chest and leave
your heart lit to navigate at night,
if you gamble away your last gold piece,
then lean on the rail and watch
the catfish eat God knows what and love it,
if you get down river far enough
past the heaps of burning tires
and shanty towns and siren songs,
if you get past the islands of mediocrities
feasting on their prizes,
if you turn your face from
jive-ass mutherfucker gimmie some
of that celebrity mojo,
if you don’t care you’re drowned out
by the world’s stock car race
and stage-smashed guitars,
if you are content with
the soft glow you make
in the shadow of the grand whizbangs,
if you are vigilant, intrepid enough
to scoop up a star before
the diving pelican takes it,
if you get that far and still write
and you see the place where the mud-water
swirls into the gulf like smoke,
maybe then, maybe then.

—

copyright 2015 Doug Anderson