Friday, August 22, 2014

Alpena's Boardwalk

Slow curve in concrete, 
mirror of the river's undulation
but frozen in fake boardwalk finery,
we promenade.
I used to puff to keep up with him,
but now,
we can walk a little more together,
he's taller but my legs are longer.

He talks about how the road used to 
slide down on gravel to the edge,
and all was stone and weeds,
and fisher-folks could sit six at a time on a side
and never see each other,
just lines and bobbers in the current.

Now the flowers are bordered,
the black bridge arching splendid and
fleshly painted,
and soon a hotel will rise
in a spot where, 
today at least,
I can still find fossils.


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