The driveway of Floyd McCauley
is flooded by the Museconetcong
and outside tonight,
a wave of red water
cuts a diamond-shaped erosion.
this year as every year,
he sees the red clay
shred the face of gravel, notices
the battleship Wisconsin moored
at his mailbox, disgorge
swabbies at Subic bay in 44';
he spins his story from a deep breath.
Memories maul his sentinel oaks,
he looks down and grabs his temples
to stop the pain, looks up to see dust
devils turn his oaks, he taps the railing,
& finishes his inspection,
tests an old salt's balance
on the sagging tongue and groove,
and doesn't notice the Wisconsin,
let go of her bow and stern line
has left his mailbox,
& with her first movement,
turned the Museconetcong
into a river of tropical rubies
glittering under the moon.
her shape looms on the river
as the linesman calls
first, port, then starboard;
on the bow, taking his calling breath
from the evening fog.
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