They said I was dead When they pulled me from the pool, But one fireman covered my face with his mouth And blew While another said to my mother It happens all the time with young kids. (The cord passed through the open mouth Into red gills. He hung suspended by the stroke of fins, Webbed like the pale skin of a fan. Leaning over the edge of the boat, I saw the green twitch of his eye And the faultless shingle of scales. The bone of the boat-rim pressed my ribs And I saw the blunt white bud of each tooth.) The doctors would pronounce no verdict Prematurely, Prodding me with flash of needles Into the sterile glare of lights. I went home after four days smelling of Clean steel and antiseptic. (I remember The rippled underside of the sky, The sunlight in brown petals on my face.)
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Warren Wedin email@example.com