Iconoclast

Growing up on a lake
it was easy for us to test
the buoyancy of every school
necessity from pencils
to protractors.
Between us we didn’t know
about origami or the pacific ocean’s
end, but we did know the news
could be folded when father had left for work.
The invading tides, relentless
as the end of summer, ate through
a picture of Reagan’s face.
A perfect circle showing teeth
drawn by some lifeless hand
dripping with ink.
The assortment of erasers
were too heavy to achieve grace.
We sent out little army men after them,
a search and rescue playing dramatically
against the setting sun like Ms. Saigon.
They too would be lost
to the relentless sea.
Changing to unmanned planes
we dive bombed the serene lake
with classifieds and obituaries.
Each plane making it mere feet
before a dramatic kamikaze
surrounded by imaginary pyrotechnics.

I read my news online now.
And live on a hill.

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