SWIMMING HOLE

SWIMMING HOLE


half a hundred times she returns
elbows and knees
cutt-offs and bikini top
hair summer tangled

down this line of poplars
between reeds
along a rock-spit
boys leave beer bottles
and the men who still hop trains
boil beans, chuck the cans
keep the spoons
catch the Santa Fe at the bend

dragonflies dart, frogs call
thick green river
never the same river twice, they say

and here, come with me
where the grass is bent
from blankets set with buckets of chicken
we hurled firsbees, grilled hot dogs
Grandpa spit through each horseshoe for luck

he played hookey here
those years they called it hookey
parked a model A beside the poplar
with the heart carved by his pen knife
every boy should have a pen knife, he thought

every boy should come home
with scraped knees and briar scratches
to prove he’d been somewhere
somewhere brave
we played the war that grandpa fought
when we died we counted to ten

these brambles are tents we crawl in
call Headquarters, radio our position
if we had walkie-talkies we’d call ourselves
age seven and six
we’d kiss our hand for practice
say it was the girl we’d seen

stand at the end of this gravel
you’ll know a ‘76 Datsun parked here
vinyl seats burned

here we smoked pot
here we French kissed
here we got to second base
and here, one night
those girls who drowned
were skinny dipping

still, mud squishes
between toes and we squint
across the river—so flat, so green, turning
tar blisters on railroad ties
thistles cling in proof
we were here

sure as summer she returns
white tan lines crisscrossed
and freckles
fixed now yellowing Kodachrome

half a hundred times we’ve seen her
when the moon is caught just so in the trees

we drink a toast
cheapest beer warm as July
foamy from the hike
swish it, spit it
pelt the river
laugh at what they say about
the same river twice