Lake Monster
There is a man-made monster
in the man-made lake. The surface
is too shiny for comfort, it looks like
it is sleeping like a perfect infant
in its coffin. Water is supposed to be
blue like cauliflower and wholesome
like fields of wild grain blowing in
the salad days of the American memory.
Not black like the oil of the American
dream machine. The automatic thrashers
and mechanical meat separators. I’m
developing swimmer’s ear just listening
to the lake not lapping on the concrete
shores. I’m developing body hair and
opinions on women in the adolescence
of my American summer camp. Opinions
on women and opinions on older boys.
On justice and punishment. And horseplay
makes the monster move beneath the water.
And the older boys are like sharks in their
smoothness, their body hair appearing
out of place and brushing your leg
like the weeds beneath the surface that
grace your toes and make you set records
for speed back to the dock. The monster
is smooth too like a sharkskin and the boys
are sea mammals hunting in packs by
the man-made filtration fountain where
campers are forbidden to climb but
boys will be wolves will be sharks
with octopus puckers and squid beaks
and tendrils that whip out from under
black water and wrap around your ankle
and pull you under where you can’t see
or breathe but wait but wait but wait.
| Joshua Schneider |
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