Joe paddles backward in the eddy
behind a rock, riffles like fu-manchu
frame Joe as he lingers in the river
soul-patch and checks his fit-bit
equipped with paddle-boarding app—
“6.1 miles” he shouts. An Osprey cheers
from it’s house atop power pole.
Joe is impressed I know
Osprey from Merganser.
Joe lives on this river,
confuses me with ignorance
of names and lack of fear—
standing on shaking legs down rapids
between rocks with igneous flare
like punk-rock bracelets we bought
from Hot Topic. Joe laughs at danger
even as he drops his lower half-in
to warm the river and mark it
home.
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