All Art wanted in this life was to obtain a little boat,
get away from all the din, make it cozy as a tub
within whose sweetly quiet confines he could float.
Art dreamed of drifting out in it on perfect summer
afternoons. Crowds at beaches, raucous barbecues,
drunken groping in the dunes? For Art, a total bummer.
So in the glory of an August day, to flee cacophony,
Art pushed his boat away into the bay toward calm.
Before a storm is what the calm turned out to be.
A hurricane with killing winds – deafeningly thunderous –
horrifically ripped both the boat and Art apart. Now Art,
to whom we once looked up, is
somewhere under us.
.
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