"Who uses these roads that they are so pristine?"
More Perihelion:
Bob Sward's Writer's Friendship Series
Postpartum Departure
(a)
Pink canoes of variable size are floating face down
I’ve been warned of your psychosis and false treatment of others
Hydrotherapy tubs and hoses fill a doctor’s office
Or stuck to the floor of large tide pools
The canoes were painted many times or have corroded
Strokes of different pink overlap
Once a service to tourists below sweeping dark cliffs
The canoes now rest in droves of silver-eyed
Black sliver fish darting like traffic
On a midnight street far below
(b)
I convince myself you’re a scientist
Does far reaching thought require benevolence or a clear trajectory?
We dine in mountainous cliffs
You wear a somber plaid
The air is cold metallic and smells of burning autumn
Summers often seem peculiar on the coast
It’s late when we drive home down surprisingly swift and snaking roads
Who uses these roads that they are so pristine?
(c)
Tin drums yellowing in an abandoned lot
Black hoses hissing in agate puddles
Mothers lying in tubs like beached whales
He carries the baby in ahead of me
Submerges the baby in a tub
I rush to the side of each tub but I can’t find the baby
Mothers hiss stranded on their sides
You refuse to tell me which drum
You put the baby in
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