where the jet skis run
amok and dogs plash
in shallow water.
Pinconning or somewhere.
It's just like dusk to sort
and insist upon wholly deregulated
the varieties of teeth (incisor, eye, and molar)
and the way those teeth outlast us
relegates most equipment
to the level of dish soap: quotidian,
like a beast that spends the afternoon
paring toenails for an hours-off
peregrination into nowhere.
We are the only species
convinced by the etymologies of place names.
Once I evoked the rabble of Pinconning,
I finagled my slouched body into a wetsuit
and rode the anodyne roil of last hour's wake.
Once, which lends a veracity to what
follows: a stranger comes to town,
some voluptuous structure burns,
indicts the cupidity of yokels.