Pond Poem

There is nothing like the privacy
afforded by a tall-tree perimeter
around the edge of a large pond.

It is not as private as your bathroom,
with the door locked and the shades drawn
and the shower on as hot as it will go
pouring solace onto you.

It is not as private as your car,
where you can sing as loud as you want
and say the mean things you think of other drivers
and ignore what you know:
That they have lives and circumstances too
and might be in a hurry for good reason.

But don’t try to tell me that
or remind me that just beyond the edge of my miopia
those lighter patches around the curve of this tiny peninsula
are other humans having their own day out.

Honestly. I’m not listening to you.
I am listening to the lapping of wavelets brought up by the wind
and the sound of my skin forming goosebumps.

I am listening to her laughter
and the sunshine
and the pollywogs and dragonflies and snakes.

I am listening to being naked in the water and the sunshine
In the perfect privacy
Of trees and sky and pond.


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