Tuesday, May 31, 2011

At camp, two boys

Something in the comfort's manner, 
like homage. Holds Doyle's flute 
for him while Doyle attends his 
stockings. Quickly shines it with 
his cloth. Doyle takes it back, 
breathes a silent tune, Dryden's 
soft complaining flute. My hero.

Lovers none the less?

It is not impossible. 
They have youth.
Would age forbid them?

Rather youth permits. The not 
knowing and the slowness of the 
days. Lack of imagination may 
move mountains.

Gray morning dulled the bay.
Banks of clouds .. swollen
spumeless tide. Heads that
bobbed like floating gulls
and gulls that floating
bobbed like heads. Two heads.
At swim, two boys.

Jamie O'Neill
At Swim, Two Boys
Scribner, 2001©

Photos from a series by
David Sherman and Peter Stackpole,
lent from a Private Collection.
Rights reserved.

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