Baptism

City lights spur the rust-stained edge of the Monongahela

Truth be told,
            Tip-toeing at the water’s frozen lip is a
            Dark, satisfying sort of danger

The unfathomable depths of that smog-blackened river
Can be an endless, unanswered prayer
            To man

I think of Mikey
            A friend of a brother, long-gone;
            Cast like a lucky catfish to the tide
I can’t help but imagine the horror of the person
Whose job it is to roll the body over on its back
            And, what worldly wisdom can be gained
            From staring long and hard in dreams at the pale,
Bloated underbelly of the world

I think I see the barbs of some prehistoric fish
            Peaking its monstrous snout from the river’s gliding fins
            A grizzly old man, still muttering about that oil spill in ‘88
And, everyone wishes he’d just die already

But, in all probability, it’s a boring piece of trash
Or, that half-finished frappucino unpredictably tossed from the bridge
Or, the tangled scalp of General Braddock’s ghost
            Not that it makes a difference from this vantage point

Even still,
            The near-silent swish of unnamable debris
            Calls to me
Beckoning me
To walk the floor of the river
            Sit inside one of those flood cars from ‘96
            And, cruise through the paddlefish and warbled past
            Of these yawning, mysterious waters