A morning lake swim restores vigor and vim
And I try to take one every dawn
But my schedule got filled between errands and meals
Plus I hadn’t yet tackled the lawn
The sun had declined when I finally had time
And a fog had begun to accrue
I would have normally thought that the journey was fraught
But a full moon had lightened the view
As the evening advanced I slipped into a trance
My hands slicing through waves with a sigh
Then a murmured rapport echoed off of the shore
Both a distant and close mournful cry.
It must be my wife half-concerned for my life
I assumed and kicked farther from land
I’d return in a bit, we’d contentedly sit
By the fire with hot drinks in hand.
Except wait there were more both in volume and score
Each head turn I made for a breath
Voices muffled over waves talked clearly of graves
As my ears returned back toward the depth
A brush of lake weed as I increased my speed
Wrapped cool tendrils enfolding my thigh
In a tangled panic against villain botanic
I inhaled frigid lake with a cry
Quick as stink finds the dead I was on the lake bed
At a table, surrounded by stares
Curious gazes from holes in the heads of souls
In states of corporal disrepair
“To new friends,” a voice spoke, in a guttural choke
Rusty goblets were raised all around
“We get lonely down here, you have nothing to fear,
well at least no more now since you’ve drowned.”
“It’s been long since new blood joined us down in this mud,”
Said another, her utterance eager.
“Pardon the pun but ‘fresh’ thoughts would be fun.
Down here our discourse becomes meager.”
This news, while unwelcome called to mine how seldom
-ly someone has welcomed my presence
I was flattered, OK? That someone would say
My company was, well, something pleasant
So I eagerly extolled and let stories unfold
And shared pithy jokes, observations
My posthumous wit in that watery pit?
Charming, in my frank estimation.
Their reaction was tepid, even for the decrepit
My desperation smelled bad as them
Body language is plain, even when that body is remains
I had failed to impress the condemned.
A dead silence impended where they politely pretended
That my welcome wasn’t already stale.
My next memory I sputter like a drunk in the gutter
On a beach. In the night. Feeling frail.
Now there’s many a night where by fireplace light
I sip tea and can’t help but wonder
If my love curled up with tome in our cozy lake home
Doesn’t sometimes wish I were still under.
Always nice to read some fresh poetry 🍻