At the Charles

Why should I care

Why do I even have to know

When what now is so visually perfect

In panorama and particular?

The river sparkles

And sails sprout here and there

Randomly ordered

Filling and flapping

Soundless to the river bank

Why does such beauty beckon me

To imagine those without god luck

Drinkers of dirty water

Roofless?

I turn my eyes

To the broad gray dock

A barefoot woman lies on her back

Taking sun and traveling in a day dream

Her skirt melts between her legs

Her ankles cross.

A pair sit

Lovers in waiting

Heads touching

Hands holding

A promise to come

And then I see

A well built man

A graceful good looker

A rower red as bronze can be

Standing and making ready

Shaded eyes and shaven hair

Wearing a tight suit of shorts and shirt

A wrist watch to measure his effort

And I think there may be diamonds

Tiny ones in each ear

He prepares himself

An exhibition of ritual

Paddling in air

Warming muscles

To slide over water

To propel his boat

Needle shaped and bobbing

Waiting like a racehorse

For him to ease upon.

Together they left the dock

Gliding on sunshine.