Water Under The Bridge
The Canadian canoe submerged as we got in
too clumsily.
The cushions, brought thoughtfully for comfort
were soaked
along with everything else.
Then we discovered that we were unable to co-ordinate
our paddling
so moving along the narrow canal in a straight line
was impossible.
Thus we made slow progress.
And then we came to the long tunnel.
The sign at the entrance was disconcerting,
forbidding entry
except with a torch.
Of course, we had no torch,
just spluttering roll ups
made in darkness
from damp tobacco,
and five loud voices.
Yes, we were five.
Four adults who should have known better
and a thirteen year old
in despair as usual
of his out of control parents.
All water under the bridge
when we emerged
into the light to tell
a survivor’s tale,
now a memory.


Popular posts from this blog