At the Lock

After dinner we piled in the Ford and drove

Along the Potomac River, the seven children

Recreating our childhood’s Canal ride:

Past the reservoir, the dusty groves,

The green-scaled lock works,

The motionless flanneled fishermen.

We walked the donkey’s hard-packed road

(The way of lovers, dogs and clerks)

And tried to forget our meek house framed with wax

Where the ones who didn’t argue cried.

I thought I followed vague tracks,

Bending my head beneath a new load –

My imagination

Given locomotion.

That canal, coupling of easy current

And harsh land, allowed my memory distant

Accomodation,

Whose every cell I stuffed with sense

To render in detail

A backwater intent

To tote the long haul in my barge of innocence.