Turns out it was a river,
or a bay,
who the fuck knows.
One sad strip of sunset
blinds me to whatever washes onto
opposite banks.
I assume that what I
cannot see cannot possibly hurt me.
Go West?
Nothing lies beyond the waters
unless we live there.
Go East?
I never
wanted to see Asia anyway.
Let’s
fish on our side of the river,
the bay,
keep the mythic other bankers away,
cast off my dad’s battles,
get drunk and drown
out the sounds of progress and expansion,
invent a caste system,
unvent a bomb,
forget we discovered this place at all.