July 15, 2018Marooned
Nothing moves us like a person stuck—
a toddler in a well, a stranded scout:
we gather at our screens and pray for luck.
Will storms bypass the climbers? Run amok?
Will all those boaters perish like beached trout?
Nothing moves us like a person stuck,
a coach trapped with his soccer team, their pluck
despite the odds, the rising tide of doubt;
we mourn a diver who ran out of luck
and hold our breath while others roll and tuck
through limestone passages to get them out.
Nothing moves us like a person stuck—
except for seeing (teary, thunderstruck)
the things we’ve longed for finally come about:
rescues soaked in undiluted luck.
And then we’re back to making our next buck,
to swimming after consequence and clout.
Nothing moves us. Like a person stuck,
we peer from caves of bone and pray for luck.
from Poets Respond