Picasso's Incandescent Angel, POETRY

The River

-Don’t over-compensate.
My friend advised me,
over and over again.
Did I listen? I guess;
because, I didn’t go a ground.
I navigated myself through the river,
one hand on the stainless steel wheel
and the other holding the Binoculars
to my squinting hazel nut eyes
trying to spot the next maker
be it green or red, flashing or not.

The fish and dolphins observed with sarcastic eyes
as they dodged the bow of the boat.
The bottom of the river rose
six feet, five feet, four feet
and then went back down.
I became the boat,
that stout Island Packet,
worrying about depths, winds, and wakes.
A dragonfly pilots itself beside my head;
as a pelican dives into the water for its lunch.

I have a sudden urge for food myself,
my stomache tells me that;
but, I push it out of my mind.
I’ll think about that later,
when I find a cove to anchor in;
safe from the storms
which have been bearing down,
out of the darkness that surrounds me.
But for now, me and my crooked teeth
are trying not to be succumbed by these waves
caused by the Angel which just whizzed by.

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