Friday, June 1, 2012


Traveling to an island
Without palm trees or
Bikinis without surfing
Or coconut oil too damn
Cold this last day of May
In the middle of Lake Erie
With a wind out of the north
Washing over the sides of
The ferry bringing tears to
Our eyes like a recollection
Smells in this realm of golf
Carts & weekend sailors
& some irrelevant music
Belching from an Irish bar
Only the history’s authentic
Stored in a closed down
Monument still waiting for
Repairs yet we managed
To entertain ourselves in
Spite of every obstacle a
Castaway day provides
Good company creates
Its own weather & laughs
Maniacally into the wind

(for Ian)


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