The tugboat’s lights break
the darkness of the night against the black silhouette of
distant cypress. I on Papa’s
knee, while he sang to me; I was barely out of diapers.
The moonlit swells, like
buttery mercury, roll gently to the bulk headed bank.
Our boat dancing to a waltz,
moored safely to the wharf; while the large oak tree
to the left of me hangs
gracefully over its planks.
Papa’s left arm wrapped
around me, his song in my right ear. On my right
shoulder his thick rough
hand calloused and hard. His chest rises against my back with
‘ Climb upon my knee Sonny
Boy’. No levee can ever block this view of my back yard.
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