Chance Poem by Doug Lane

This poem
has at least
a chance
to outlive

the drowning
mind
that writes it,

has a chance
to swim
to the surface
long after
the mind itself
has sunk
to the bottom
to be fish food
to be
an empty grinning skull
occupied
by a slimy
lurking
denizen
of the deep
- -an octopus, or an eel.

This poem
will have
long since
broken the surface
and gasped,
drawn a life saving breath,
and said its piece
to you,
sitting on the deck
of your fishing boat,
smoking, drinking,
pole dangling carelessly,
sweat pouring
from your sun burnt brow,
poetry
the last thing
on what's left
of your mind.

You, who could give
a good god damn,
yet hears something,
a gasping voice
declaiming
in the wilderness.

"What was that?
Was that something?
Naw.That couldna bin nuthin'."
And you
take another
drink.