Tag Archives: steamboat

2023, essay, Ohio River Valley Literature, prose, river life, the no-scape, Working Class Literature

Stand By

When I can’t sleep one of the dogs usually stays with me. Tonight it’s Nala, the husky mix. They’ve been keeping watch over me during the days while I’m recovering from hip surgery and Amanda’s at work. They’re good company, and I fully expect some temper tantrum from them… Nala in particular… when I go back to work.

I probably drank too much coffee today. I drink a lot of coffee in general, but I’ve been pretty good at dialing it back while convalescing. The idea has been to stay on the same wake / sleep schedule as Amanda. Been doing pretty good too, until today.

It could be the coffee or it could be that I feel like I’ve been away from the river too long, my recovery is going really well, and I’ve wound myself up about getting back to my life. Grateful as I am that the surgery has been successful and the recovery is going as well as it can, and as blessed as I feel that Amanda has been so amazing through this whole ordeal, most days my brain is just rattling around in my head.

My curse is a particular itch. In the past it sent me out on the road. Working on the river, on the Belle of Louisville, somehow scratches that itch. And as I round out the 4th post-surgical week, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, I’m anxious to get back to my life. It reminds me of working the firebox on the Belle, keeping the boiler pressure at 180, waiting for the telegraph to tell me it’s time to launch.

And it’s not just about getting back to the boat. I’m anxious to spend time with my wife that isn’t a perpetual post-op. I’d like to visit my daughter and her family, get back to the perpetual hide-and-seek game with my granddaughter. I’d like to visit my mother ln Cincinnati and my brother in Cleveland. I want to start walking everywhere again and do so without the hip pain my surgery fixed.

But for now it’s me, Nala, and some cheesy TV. I’m sitting in my chair, feet up on a pillow on top of a small footstool. I’m down to one or two painkillers a day, and I’m finished with the post-op blood thinners. Life is good. The boiler’s up, the wheel is spinning, and I’m just waiting for the call to come down the telegraph to launch.

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2023, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, river life, the no-scape, Working Class Literature

from ‘Firebox Dreams: Cut Short for the Season’

It matters until it don’t: this is what the river teaches.
Seasons sink or sail like all the old paddleboats do,
either a series of procedures or a postcard
the kind one sends
addressed in a grandmother’s perfect cursive
a message from some years past actual rememberance.
These matters taken lightly or not
decisions based on cents on the dollar
this is the story of America, so held
as a series of limited mint quarters
as collectable stamps too precious
for underused correspondence.

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2023, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape, Working Class Literature

reading my old poems by boiler light

do not speak in degrees
only pressure / poundage 
is the only real measure
and even that feels inadequate

Preparing for  the 10th and Final #GonzoFest in between firing the boiler on the Belle and catching myself back from swing-shift watch. I’m honored to be in such fine company… both on the stage I’ll be sharing tomorrow (7/15) and on the boat.

Both poetry and riverlife have long traditions and I am deep diving. I’ve been deep diving into poetry for 40 years and I have yet to reach the depths. I’m still a rookie on the river. I’m ok with that. After so many new skins, new starts, this one feels like it may hold. At least Im still writing and also, maybe for the first time in my adult life, fully meeting my family obligations without feeling any tension between the different waters in which I swim.

I’m torn between reading from an older piece, Expedition Notes, and something more recent.  I’m airing them both and will decide closer to the reading which direction I’ll go. It will depend largely on the wind and the current.

(Images by Mick Parsons)

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