Finding ships


    Find a submarine, leave a mark.


    Find a carrier, make me laugh.


    The pieces are slightly damp


    like our swim towels, reminding us


    of the sea that spawned the game


    of battling ships. Uncover the box after lunch,


    when we’re all bunched around the picnic


    table like curtains pulled back to let in


    the beams of mid afternoon. Share your carrot sticks


    and I’ll give you my milk carton—we sink


    boats with gusto, like immortal pirates


    resurrecting ships from a plastic grave.


    Every part of me aches with lessons


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    learned in how to stay afloat in the deep


    blue of the community pool. Every move I make


    is practiced, intentional—I knew I’d find your ship!


    And when my own vessels eat the red, I salute them like a captain


    before the board is reset and we all set sail once more.


    Swing society


    Step up, turn and slide,


    kick your legs like astronauts do


    in weight of lighter gravity,


    and swing. Face captured


    by the clinging clouds, then facing


    the sand sprinkled like chef salt.


    Pump your legs like pistons, a machine


    chasing behind the natural


    way of things. Grab a steed and ride


    with me, into the blue like silver-finned fish,


    conversations that keep time


    with the steady pump of the thick,


    linked chains, a beating heart.


    My friends ride alongside me,


    churning up wind like cowboys


    churn up dust. And the new kids?


    They gallop too, a confident rhythm


    we all swing to, trying to touch the skies.