Jack.
THE WILSON RIVER IN AUGUST
We planned an escape from the Portland heat
by way of the coast. Our expectations
got the better of us. We ate a dreary seaside
lunch bemused and convinced
of the need for relaxation elsewhere.
We found a swimming hole just off the highway
where rural kids proved something
to themselves by hurling their only bodies
off a bridge two stories
high at least. I stood gaping from the gray
beach. One smiled
and waved, “Hello!” And when I waved mutely
back he flashed his teeth, turned and sprang
off, spread eagle into the green eddies.