Summer 2009 • Vol. XXXI No. 3 Poetry |

The Blue Boat

If the boat is ugly, but the bay is beautiful, is the sail a good one? And if the other boats are beautiful, but their hulls and sails are stenciled with ads, is the weather still beautiful if the winds are light? And if the winds are steady enough to take us out of the calanque, tacking from deep inside its high cliffs, and out across the bay to the base of the mountain, then back to the cliff with the cave that looks like the mouth of a giant with tonsils showing? And if the boom hits me in the head, but I'm carrying aspirin? And if the back of the boat is leaking but the front of the boat is automatically bailing? And if the "president" of the club, who rented us the boat, offers us white wine grown here in Cassis when we return, and we spend an hour talking, is that part of the experience? And does experience matter more than pleasure? And is pleasure better than peace? I've nothing but peace today—and sore bones—sitting alone in my apartment in Aix without any phone. My hea

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If the boat is ugly, but the bay is beautiful, is the sail a good one? And if the other boats are beautiful, but their hulls and sails are stenciled […]

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