Sugar Creek, 1983
We fell out of a tipped canoe Into a swollen creek; And my friend swam off to safety, But I thrashed and floundered weak. The current was a heavy force That pushed against my back. My breast was pinned against a limb; My vision blurred to black. I knew I dare not breathe, because That breath would be my last. I felt my feet dragged in the depths. I thought my life had passed. I drifted thru a coldness toward A figure on a shore— Toward a man who much resembled Dad who’d died three years before. I couldn’t see his face and worse I couldn’t hear his voice. But I nodded ’cause I sensed that He was giving me a choice. And suddenly my lungs drew air. I woke because my face Was borne up by the life-vest pads And bobbing in a race Upon the turbid rapids of That unsweet Sugar Creek; And I cried for help so feebly, And I saw a keel so sleek. Then two scoutmasters pulled me up Out of the churning foam, And tucked me ’neath their center thwart, And made sure I got home. I often dream my chin got clocked On that creek’s oozy bed. So maybe I was comatose And saw stuff in my head. But whether what I saw was false, Or whether it was true, I think my dad was there when we Dinged up that dang canoe.
Our scout troop had eight aluminum canoes in 1983, which is why the one in this poem gets “dinged up” instead of cracked. I believe fiberglass canoes are more common nowadays. But I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t stepped into one in over four decades. The meter and rhyme scheme were inspired by the Klondike ballads of Robert Service.
This was a lovely poem!
Very well spoken poem Daniel. And yes, aluminum canoes!