Checkout Dive

November on Long Island. The Sound
is black under pines, grey under open sky.
Frost curlicues on dead maple leaves. I shiver
in my wetsuit. My partner's in the water already,
snorkel sticking up like a bookmark
in a book you don't want to open.

I fan my enthusiasm with dreams of coral reefs,
tropic fish, an octopus' garden far from
cold, muddy Montauk. But new-kindled courage is cruelly doused
when snowflakes streak my mask with melt!
Dive master says "Get it over with,
You'll be fine once you're underwater." Shows what he knows.

Afterward my partner turns his back
while I don dry clothes, small politeness
making a world of difference to the rest of the day.
I'll remember that long after
the mud, the snow, the taste of canned air
have gone from memory.

--another word salad poem

Collection available! Knocking from Inside