Poor Hudson Boy

No one I know

ever sank with a ship,

but I heard of a boy with a guitar

who smoking pot

laced with powders

misunderstood the

words of the current

and tipped on the rocks

while, with lifeless arms,

was taken under like minnows

sucked into a riptide.

And, no more to sing,

reappeared as empty

a floating red and black flannel shirt

the guitar a shattered bow

all the finish rubbed off

raw wood

like a cross in a bombed out

wooden church.

— Elizabeth Swados