It's time to withdraw,

from open windows,

from waving to smiling faces,

wearing summer's weathered facade.

.

It's time to write a sad poem

about a man who drowned himself

at Rudd's Beach, smiling goodbyes

to the Dr.s as he left the Hospital,

sure they could sense none of his plans

to breathe in all that water.

.

All the pills, therapy, and shocks

could not erase the drive

for that final submersion, no

struggles- maybe one at first-

a reflex, but then the cool water

calms coughs, and the mind

goes to sleep to wake again

without having to know how to swim.

09/07/2006

Posted on 09/07/2006
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce