Three Slaps

Three Slaps 

Three slaps of the oar 

Three slaps of canal water, 

Green and alive and dark. 

Three laps forward for the boat. 

It’s a long way to go, with 

A heavy mind 

Heavy limbs 

And eyes that smell of Soot. 

A dead twig floats by. 

A fish flashes its white belly. 

A ship’s horn, blunted 

By the fog, 

Probes through the dark. 

A crab drums a dark litany 

On a broken shell. 

A shoe surfaces, carrying 

Old footprints from a ballad. 

Slowly, the water is deserted. 

Doom sinks down, 

Releasing a school 

Of bubbles.