Close to the End

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I was in a shell boat,
                              in one transient wave of ooze;
the ooze of spinal fluids, hands, feet and fingers of
                         my brothers and sisters and
             their brothers and sisters.

I had a slotted spoon for an oar,
                 a lifejacket 
                                      and my ship,
my Nina, Pinta, or Santa Maria
      dumped me in the pool,
the pool of my family.

                                                                      I front-floated to shore,
                                                  to the end of my driveway, my
                                         family home on garbage night and
                    I cried for the mothers and fathers of my 
      brothers and sisters who floated in the street,
no one to write a eulogy but me.