Spinal Fire Scientia Est Potentia

What the Hell happened to Heaven?

The new red boat-
An eighteen foot, one hundred fifty horsepower,
State of the art fishing attack vehicle

Bumped up against the old wooden dock.
Old tires sit upon rough-hewn wooden posts
Some have old beer cans floating on the insides.

Years ago my little feet used to
Plaster the smooth wooden planks
Back and forth
Tossing shiny lures through the snaking leafy tendrils
Hoping for a brown racing streak to
Grab it in a toothy, expectant, mouth.

Old aluminum boats are still strapped to the dock
Red portable six-gallon gas tanks glisten
Like maraschino cherries in
Cheap plastic cocktail glasses

The end of the dock is a foot lower
Then the rest.
The waves wash over it in windstorms.
Green algae grows creating a Newtonian surface
And if I were to cast their now

The dock would not be the only one to get dunked.