when i look out into the mirror,
I’m still reminded of the steamboat that used to float on past our bend in the river, where me and Josie used to play, it would look a terrible mess of fright when we used to play late, the sunset bathing our bayou in mystery and enigma, I would see those flaming eyes with torches passing on by, people laughing as they were on fire, boned hands reaching around glass cups, skeletons and demons passed on that steamboat called the Wisecrack, laughing as they made merriment and passed on by
Me and Josie would ask the fairies to tell us stories about when those people were human like me and Josie. I remember the one time I stepped onto that boat, it was something quite different, the lights and the colors were different than what me and Josie had witnessed playing with that old gator in the bayou.
I realized here, that the truth of these people who were skeletons from far away were beautfiul and different up close, when you stepped on this boat from the city port, but getting off that boat and returning to the bayou, to me and Josie’s bend, I sat next to now old Chester, that ancient gator, and looking beyond the ferns and trees, I still see the skeletons, but they no longer see me