Poetry

What the Arkansas

(On this winter’s day a summer lament) in 3 parts

I saw He saw Arkan saw

It was on the Arkansas River that I saw her

She was paddling her kayak near to me                                              

And I started thinking things I shouldn’t ought to

as we drifted so content and carefree.

So I paddled just a little bit closer for a better chance to see

suddenly someone grabbed me by the shoulder

it was her boyfriend who had kayaked up to me

He frowned and told me not to linger

and I knew this wasn’t meant to be

his fingerprints now imprinted on my shoulder

said he was as serious as a floating W.M.D.

Paddle-Dip-lomacy

This time, what I call “Paddle-Dip-lomacy,” seemed the better part of valor, as I watched them paddle away leaving me feeling like a fire hydrant looking at a departing dog.

Needless to say, at that moment I wished I was under the influence of something from one of those shops with a green cross on it. Be it fate, fortune or circumstance, in any case, it seems all conspired against me.

Lesson or Hope Floats

Don’t let your emotional GPS get overridden by the thrill of possibilities or what Allen Greenspan would call “irrational exuberance.”

The harsh reality is the current of the Arkansas sometimes carries the currency of suffering. “Paddle-Dip-lomacy” may not diminish your disappointment, but without sorrow we can’t feel happiness.

So next summer, when hope floats again and you cast your fate to the currents, may you connect like two socks in a dryer uninterrupted by someone throwing in a Cling Free, because as Mark Twain once said, “memories that never were … are the hardest to forget.”

 

“Tinker” Paul Silver,

Howard