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Cory Howell Poem
I found a surfboard once,
Along the banks of the Cherokee Lake.
A dirty, stained, half-broken plank.
My cousin and I drifted it out
To see if it could still keep its head up.
I waded among the leaves,
In a shallow bay where our
Campsite smoked from the morning's fire.
Treading water, holding tight, I examined
My vessel -- I pulled myself on board.
The breeze hit my dripping back,
Sending chills to my toes.
I stood, stumbled, and lifted my
Hands; crucified by the mid-morning air.
Eyes closed, I tasted the water on my lips.
I found myself among the reeds and cold
Waters of a lake. Thirteen and Shivering.
Copyright © Cory Howell | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Cory Howell Poem
Twenty-two is a shitty
Thing. No age left to look forward
To, the slow decline steepens
As your brakes quickly go out.
Oh. How could I
Forget?
My Insurance
Goes up at
Twenty-five.
I
Cannot
Wait.
Copyright © Cory Howell | Year Posted 2014
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