The Crossings – Choice Poem
When thinking about crossing a stream, do you love the big rocks towering or does the rushing deduce your eyes and you're drowning before shifting an inch? We played catch between the train-track and the river. To be fair, not much gushing there, and still, we never crossed to the ninth hole, but we did fish balls out of the stream. Once, I counted the dimples - must have been on or onto something that day. Did you know that if you put a coin on the track and wait for the train to squash it, you can stick it into the vending machine at the train station, buy chocolate bars worth tenfold? Then, time is everything and how you put your boot down on what, hope has you sure, is a steppingstone but may end up being a wobbly rock, and you slip like an eel, turn the length of the flushing spring.