Harboring Thoughts

Does Seurat know about your lines?
What does he think? I’m at the harbor
wearing a trench coat, watching seagulls,
fancy bedfellows in corduroy, and warped
wooden docks, thinking of phone books
buried in salt. I guess it’s bourgeois
compared to park picnics and peach
clothes of women that drag their daughters.

If I wear clothes like that, I would worry
about grass stains. But I don’t mind them
on my blue jeans. There are enough problems
involving eggs and containers they arrive in.
They crack, and there will be no cake
to open makeup mouths. Boys wade into the
dashes, elongating distant houses by the shore,
not reaching the cloudy harbor waters.

M. N. O’Brien received his B.A. from Roanoke College, where he received the Charles C. Wise Poetry Award. His poems have appeared in Drunk Monkeys, Right Hand Pointing, and The Ekphrastic Review, among other journals. He lives in Hudson, New Hampshire, and feels awkward writing about himself in the third person.

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