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Traveling
With The River
Knowing winter's
clear water
will soon be
dulled by summer,
the two of us
wade
just a ways down
from the old
Brock Bridge.
Advance scouts,
we're alert
for yesterday's
ware.
Abandoned
bottles, hubcaps,
and other good
junk
wait between
last night's coon
tracks melting
in the silt
and today's sun
patting
the river's cool
bottom. Friendly,
the current
nudges us farther
than we have
been before.
We forget and
let April's path
splash above our
knees, ignoring
dense mud and
scavenging sand
that sucks at
and into
our worn canvas
shoes.
We stop at
Holler's Bend,
listen---and
hearing only
ourselves,
imagine
the sound of
trees
stretching and
buds splitting.
It's late. Our
mothers
will worry. But
we
decide we are
men
and are never
going home, again.
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More Spring Themed Poems
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