7 June 2020

By Philip Kuepper

There is the unloading
of shells from the racks
of the trailer, parked,
across from the docks.

There is the shouldering of them
across dry land.
There is the kiss of them
when meeting water,
the steadying of them
when climbed into.

Oars lock.

The row out,
to the current, is slow,
like a mouth hesitant
about a word to be spoken.
Then there is talk,
quick, clipped, rapid,
as the current takes
hold the oars.

There is a slipping in
to synchronized motion.
The cox barks.
Blades bark back.
There is dialogue,
within the monologue of a workout.

(5 May 2020)