As The Four of Them Continued to Row

so straw-hat-wearing
the throb of summer’s knot
I think you say block
we lived inside it

a vanilla statue kneels down, we climb onto its knuckle
I sand down the lies
they were a barrel
I am at last dead, my chewing gum
flavourless, the net I was wearing, empty
and fish ricochet off the bank wet pockets, a frozen torso
thaws and runs into the muck
sam, I yell, but he cannot hear me through the cicadas
the dry grass makes my legs itchy
bird cries sound like words
I mouth the word wanker