boats by Laurent Orseau

    Laurent Orseau

    No Return

    I like divorce. I love to compose

    letters of resignation; now and then
    I send one in and leave in a lemon-
    hued Huff or a Snit with four on the floor.
    Do you like the scent of a hollyhock?
    To each his own. I love a burning bridge.

    I like to watch the small boat go over
    the falls — it swirls in a circle
    like a dog coiling for sleep, and its frail bow

    pokes blindly out over the falls’ lip
    a little and a little more and then
    too much, and then the boat’s nose dives and butt

    flips up so that the boat points doomily
    down and the screams of the soon-to-be-dead
    last longer by echo than the screamers do.
    Let’s go to the videotape, the news-
    caster intones, and the control room does,

    and the boat explodes again and again.

    – William Matthews

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