Popping fish bubbles

i live by the river.
we nap together
and hang out
with the cool breeze
that ruffles
and cools our skin.

she is an old lady.
pocked and scarred.
we share our age
and rage about
anti-ageing creams
and flimsy dreams.

snake oil.

she is gentle.
caressing her banks
with nimble fingers,
but when she cracks

each day is different,
down by the river.
as squirrels whirl
in the trees above
there are fish bubbles to pop
atop her rippling back
as mallards cruise by
and noisily quack.

she is older than me.
wiser. full of history,
full of stories
of life and death and hope.
she is taken for granted
but she shrugs
and carries on,
and as night falls
she whispers and sings
the most delicious of songs.


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