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Dragon Pretzels
Never Was
It was twice what I remembered
when I returned to those
glyphs the stoneflies make
with their dried husks on rocks
at the high-water mark.
Tiny called them dragon pretzels
before she drowned last spring,
but let’s not go there.
The water isn’t what
it used to be. Never was,
never will be. I heard that from
a drunk who said he caught
that thirteen pounder on the wall
down at The Lucky Loser.
I told him I was out of a job
and he said give me a quarter
and I’ll tell you why I care,
then he tried to sell me postcards
of dead cops in car crashes.
Before he left, I told him there’s
a fungus that grows in the dumps
around here that might cure
whatever it was he had
that made him act that way.
Sometimes I’ll walk out
over the interstate and imagine
the oncoming traffic is headed
for another planet. Any more,
that’s about the only way
I can get to sleep.