27 December 2020

By Philip Kuepper

Winter came, then,
free of the baggage of compromise.
It had iced-over the river.
That was non-negotiable.
An errant oar lay frozen
where it had been forgotten.
The rivers’ banks were flush
with the profits of snow,
that would only be taken
by the sun, come spring.
Until then, rowers
would live frugally.
They would row imaginarily.
There would be
something Alice in Wonderland
about their practicing.
They would fashion sculls
and oars out of their minds.
They would fashion rivers
to row on.  Thames, Charles,
Connecticut ribboned through
their craniums.  They would
one-up Nature.  They would
melt the non-negotiable
ice, and navigate it,
until the sun took it profits
from the snowbanks.

(19 December 2020)