Walking along a stream I spotted, in morning mist,
A flat-bottomed rowing boat pulled up at a low bank,
Took my shoes and socks off,
Pushed the boat out, jumped onboard and
Used an oar as a rudder and began drifting.

The stream was flanked by tall trees their
Hydra arms leaned down into the stream as
Wanting to wash away ancient sins in mist,
Seeking absolution of yore when their arms
Were used to hang thieves and witches from.

The stream got wider, but not deeper and
Further down cows were knee deep in mud
Drinking water, seeing the boat they hastily
If clumsily, retreated mooing indignantly,
Before feeding, burping and chewing cud.

Near a dual carriageway the stream widened
To a lake of silt before going underground,
I pulled the boat up as far as I could
And my feet got muddy, this was reality
The voyage had been a dream, a romantic abstraction.

Tried to dry my feet on wet cold grass,
Didn’t succeed but put socks and shoes back on hoping
That I wouldn’t be met with an accident sent
To hospital were a nurse would say:
“Look at that man’s feet has he never had proper bath?

Walked along the hard shoulder when a patrol car stopped,
The one who wasn’t driving asked
If I had had a breakdown,
I hesitated, but didn’t answer
As his idea of a breakdown and mine were not the same,
Instead I pointed to the stream.

“You came from there”, “Yes.”
The pair looked at me long and hard
And it struck me how life imitates B. movies.
I looked at my shoes they were clean,
A blessing really, if not they would
Never have driven me to the nearest town.