Past Time to Tack

Past Time to Tack
by Phyllis Jean Green
Saturday, June 16, 2007

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The little red boat.
The fishermen.
Sun turning lemon.
Water going flump, flump, flump
We were at the quiet end.
Me in a cotton bikini
I had made. Seersucker,
I believe. You were plastered
with sunscreen to keep from burning.
Army examiner once put down,
“complexion ruddy.” What
a laugh. But we are on the lake.
Jordan, I think. Casting off,
a woman put down a pail to point,
“What is that, a biscuit tray?”
But sail, we did. Okay, okay.
In our fashion. Sailors, no way.
Ask the three beered-up fishers
who rowed by when we were too far
out. “You guys aren’t married. Look
too happy!” Flump, flump, flump.
Swelling cloud’s got us worried.
Best turn around. Not the words
I try on friends next day. “Tacking’s
for the birds,” I remember going on.
“Rain starts to spit. . .we are, like, Help!”
Best part the shower we took.
The tingle. Suddenly finding
we are not tired, after all.

Now you can’t remember
the little red boat.
Fishermen. Sun. Flump
and the biscuit tray are gone
along with my name.
Along with yours.
Look at the picture again, okay?
Let me tell you what I
recall



(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2007
All Rights Reserved.





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