The Boatman Considers a Scone
Centuries upon centuries of oaring
ingrates across this boring river
and finally I’m bored too. Used to be
I’d never notice what they’d wear
or who they showed up with, but now
I’m fascinated with every one.
Yesterday a woman from Hibernia
arrived at my dock holding no coins
but what looked to be a stone. “No,” she said,
“scone,” and immediately I was lost.
What’s a scone? “You eat it,”
she said, and I laughed out loud.
“Might just as well be a stone,” I said
in helping her aboard. Her eyes went
blank as she sat, rigid as an oar,
brought the scone to her lips.
“Scone,” she said, but not to me,
and, coinless, I pushed away from shore.
Ron Hayes is a poet and fiction writer from Erie, PA. He holds a Master of Fine Arts from Queens University of Charlotte…
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