He laughs, country songs are simply coffee
heartbreaks, the cloying of sugar love ...
She thinks Hank Williams is the sound of
leaving Virginia, leaving Maryland, leaving
Delaware to board the Lewes Ferry
No matter how I struggle and strive
I'll never get out of this world alive
He yodels philosophy like she almost
always smiles until the poetry rolls off
her fingers and wrinkles the sea
The water sashays under grey nimbus.
He knots time into a pretzel and smiles
at the spicy honey mustard and ketchup
she pours on a plate. He knows
she hates ketchup.She knows, he knows ...
She points to the lighthouses, so many
line the sea struck hour like beacon guides,
or sirens that save from the sea, that's simply
a viscous burial for rusted feelings,the foam of imaginings.
This boat isn't exhausted yet and she floats
to Cape May on a whimsy, a breeze.
Hank Williams singing I will never get out of this world alive
It was Hank Williams and Patsy Cline all the way to Cape May. There’s nothing like country music to still you into the moment and everything is as it seems, as it is meant to be. The foam of the sea is simply that, what the pandemic ushered in, battles with the ephemeral shadowy past. We cannot make sense of ghosts and the demoniacal of a virus, so we write stories to them, wear masks, but the sea will swallow the foam.
It was delightful this morning, we cycled through the historic district and my vintage and creaky hotel bicycle had no handle brakes. It was the thrill of childhood once more and I almost fell off laughing at that thing yodeling like Hank Williams 🙂