He Knew Boats
He knew boats. Boats, he knew. He knew
models made small enough to float
on a droplet of beer, ocean-
goers too enormous to be
—properly—called boats at all, and
the floatilla of purpose, size,
and construction between extremes.
Boats were his dinosaurs, his teams,
his playlists, his women, his life’s
home address. He knew boats. He did
not know microbiotics, moons,
how to write sonnets, how to ask
for help. Once he saw a woman
with a map, and he almost tried.