Squirts Running Down the James
By Gary Myers
Water weaves past down a bend on the James;
It’s filled with unfamiliar faces, swimming and splashing
But this rocky river is a familiar friend to me.
Tucked away between rolling blue mountains,
The perfect spot. I jump into the water
And in my wake I find the names of strangers.
Slapping, spitting, swimming, spinning, splashing, screaming,
The river swirls around us pulling downstream,
Down to Richmond, down through marshland, out into the bay.
As we lost our strength for fighting the river
And began to feel it’s pull, we waded into
Thick mud clotted along the river bank and continued
Slapping, spitting, swimming, spinning, splashing, screaming,
Tossing balls of wet Earth back and forth while ducking and running.
Young and spry, we hoped to escape the currents forever.
Bleating horns and screeching tires litter the air with noise.
An unpleasant ambience that doesn’t quite fit the view;
In the distance, white caps beat against rocks and light
Shimmers across the waves as it does through the trees.
Then the water passes under cement archways,
Winding past towers of brick, metal, and glass.
Weekend strolls along the James make living in the city bearable.