Paper Boats
I learned to love folding a boat
out of a single piece of loose leaf.
I’d make the mast high & sometimes
would add a toothpick & tinfoil sail
but every time I launched the yacht
the voyage was an utter failure—
grounded on mossy rocks or scuttled
between the bars of the creek’s culvert.
And in my dreams I’d hear
them scream. All the imaginary
micro-machine people who had boarded
my boat with the best intentions—
intending to find a new life,
or at least one better than this.
And the next day I’d fold. Walk
to the creek. And then I’d launch.
