Poetry: “algae” by Joseph Felkers

August mud clings to our ankles

like the skies just opened for a second.

Didn’t plan on raining but a little slipped

out so we can stop getting cuts

on dry weeds and smelling cinnamon

starch air dried like fourth grade.

 

We are so tired of being in this month.

It feels like bike rides might not

last so long with seat worn ass and bone—

can’t wait to dunk

 

under warm water, inland lake, smell

like fresh organism. Fresh water means

no salt not no bacteria, but we don’t mind.

 

Fresh water means towel off, swimmer’s ear

and new flip flops slippery with sunblock.

We don’t call it that. We don’t wear it anyways.


Joseph Felkers lives and writes in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  His work appears or is forthcoming in Juked, Rust + Moth, and SOFTBLOW, among others.  He edits for Adroit, and scoops ice cream to get by.

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