Declaring you’re sub nautical suggests less
than it conceals; we’re still of the sea, that’s
a given, although some of us fascinate a lot
more amenably to bouncing river ripplets as
the tide turns, or is it the spray which seeks
hidden homogeneity to land on; being wet’s
a kind of kinship after all - and any breeze’s
magnanimity benefits - one way or another
But, here we’re bouncing rivulets of wake in
an inflatable unable to safely plane, without
the wisdom of council who’d ask - why’re y’
doing it that way - in puttering by a flotilla of
moored pleasure craft all skilfully anchored
to belief you are the compleat stranger
© 26 March 2016, I. D. Carswell
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