pools of my worst dreams
canal is motionless
stagnant lime green
john deer tractor green
thick nuclear waste gunk
of the world,
on opposite trailside,
the mighty old Potomac
crisp and blue-brown,
flowing from upper valley
toward Chesapeake shore,
raining too hard to see,
I remove my glasses,
shirt soaked, pants, bandanna,
head, arms, feet dry under
wool socks, hiking boots,
I hope my poncho rigged
as rucksack cover holds,
not much in there that will
suffer if wet anyway, still,
mosquitoes out,
mark my right arm,
return mark return
again, fuck the C&O
my swelling arm,
my tired fucking legs,
these fucking bugs
won't let me go
unscathed.
AT Poems XII
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