Anticipation is a calm lake
Or a bubbling sulphuric spring,
Reaction held by surface tension,
Steam showing what is to come.
You wait both excited and anxious
Frantically searching the facade,
Expecting the piercing screech,
Yet all remains silent.
A single external movement
Of word or deed,
An imperceivable internal image,
Can trigger an explosion.
The spouts of rage touching
Everything within reach,
The quaking subsides quietly,
Tension always just under the surface.
She dreamed of the wide Mississippi
Lapping the boat on both sides
As she glided through its corridors
Sipping a mint julep.
She knew that by the time she got there,
There would be no gliding or mint juleps, but
There would still be the mighty Mississippi
To revive those dreams.
Dreams churn like the paddles of the boats
Much like years pass and age wears on us.
Life becomes more about daily living,
Surviving with loved ones than adventure.
Now, the paddle boats employment dings with
Bells and lights as we dream instead of riches.
They sit buoyantly swaying rather than
Tackling the currents that push beyond the river.
