What a pain it is
Getting kayaks on the car.
It will be worth it.

One red and one green,
Strapped to the roof on foam pads.
Cinched up, immobile.

Paddles and vests next,
Anticipation building.
“Let’s bring sandwiches!”

The lake isn’t far.
Driving with hulls overhead,
Imagining fun.

Unloading is quick.
We each carry our own boat
And float the back half.

Clumsily climb in.
Almost too heavy to budge,
Then you feel it glide.

Paddles pull us out.
Dig deep, right, then left.
Splashing and slurping.

Over and over,
Using shoulders and wrists,
Watching the blades swirl.

Stop, and feel it coast.
The noise of the beach is gone.
Lily pads nearby.

The water seems green.
This close you see the algae,
Sunlight sifting through.

Unwrap the sandwich.
Baloney, mayo, white bread.
Being ten again.

You drift over there;
A damsel fly comes with me,
Perched on my paddle.



© 2008  Michael Yanega


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