I am amazed by the story where a man pulls
two ships weighing over a thousand pounds
across the water and to the shore. Granted,
the distance is only fifteen meters and not
the length of the Suez Canal— but not a single
tooth bursts from his mouth. He backs away
from the edge of the pier, hands rowing
air on both sides of his body as the ropes
gradually give up their slack. He’s done
other hard things like this before: pulled
a train thirty-three feet across the rails
also with his teeth, and twenty cars
with a harness strapped to his back.
Besides the weight, do the ships, trains,
and cars have symbolic value, does he
do this for a reason other than to break
a world record? I'm also in awe when I
hear of grandmothers forming patrols
on the periphery of schools, of random
strangers rushing to the aid of humans
pulled out from behind counters
as they flip burgers and fill orders
for soda and fries. I want to hear about
happy endings where the trickster
rabbit outwits fox and greedy wolf, where
the spider weaves threads and carries cruise
ship workers across the ocean to safety.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
