Port river plunge

09-11-2011 NHITS68 Gallery Poetica Super User

Bleary-eyed at 6 am, with hordes of young
learners, I clambered down a ladder onto
the drifting barge. I gasped, shivered and clung
to Uncle Allen’s greasy arms, smeared in pig fat
to guard against Arctic waters, a slippery slide
to unknown depths.

My uncle beckoned, cajoled, but was always
out of reach. I knew this trick – a ploy to lure
me in. Dog paddling, desperate to stay afloat,
I rounded the bobbing buoy. Swallowing putrid
mouthfuls like a gulping goldfish, I splashed my
way back through the morning mist.

Now, wild dolphins leap, dip and dive
in an acrobatic river dance. They twist and turn,
flip in the air and slap tails on water. Plumes
of spray shoot skyward as they frolic, ride swells.
At home, their grey snouts smile as they sing
and revel in the Port playground.

Shelda Rathmann