shot glass
Issue # 7 May 2012
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Sonja Johanson

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In Temple Grandin, I Find a Kindred Soul

I sit, at the dock's edge.
The small pond is rocked by waves
From the speed boats that overpower its dimensions.
Behind me, the Terhi, tied to its cleats
Is lifted and dropped by the swells.
On each rise it rides hard up my spine
Drags down as the water recedes.
I am comforted by this.
As if I am mucking the barn
While the old horse in the next stall nudges me, repeatedly
With his long, bony nose
In the hopes of an extra ration.
The boat offers the confident attentions of an experienced partner
Who knows me well enough
To dispense with juvenile gentleness.