24 October 2021
By Philip Kuepper
The chop made it
too rough to row.
The waves wore
caps, sharp white,
atop the grizzled
grey water, water
with an attitude,
the sky, low,
beetle-browed with clouds.
He had come to row,
but could only watch
the water having a fit
against itself.
(13 October 2021)
Hear The Boat Sing 