September 2002 / Volume Three / Issue One
Joy Reid
The Dam

The damís beautiful this evening
its water streaked tortoiseshell coppery
as gums stretch leafless across the surface.
So quiet.
A terrapin up periscopes
a snooping penis.
The ploomp made when he recedes... echoes.
I sit in my usual spot
a warm, yellow-gold scoop
formed by the hooves of cattle descending to drink.
The graded earth has attracted
more than one opportunist.
I reach into the rabbit hole
draw out a squarish bottle.
Hardly more than a nip or two
but enough for comfort.
Comfort is completely under-rated, the..., the... solace
of a touch
the balm administered by a kindly intended word.
When finished
I fish out a tobacco tin
roll and light one
lean back
keeping my mind a deliberate blank.
Itís cooperating... for a change... itís still
as the whole world seems still
on the evening of this
my decision.
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