Poetic Rowing

Broken backs and bad knees rowing in the fog ’cause the world weighs more on land.

Not trying to be young just trying not to disappear. Cursing loud, laughing raw, bleeding quiet.

Nothing to prove. Everything left to feel.

That dark, cold swing is the only thing that still feels like being alive.

We don’t row for pretty. We row ’cause it’s the only hour that doesn’t lie.

Old dogs. Still biting. Still dragging our bones into something brutal and true.

“Keep coming back” is the mantra And bring the goddamn Advil.

*Joe G came up with the name and stuck with me.