Republic

The creek was corrupt and

put us in itself

in one of its many smooth octagonal cells.

It was only eight steps across,

a brown fish, large, in it which we killed.

The creek was a black ledger

where our

names fell as sediment.

We made a way through weeds

                                       down a slope

with leaping, flashing white

concrete chunks breaching from it .

The air was eighty per cent peppery arc welding bloom.

The creek was a horned ring

that when it hit us left a

tattoo.

We, children, signed up.

We sank.

We smelled of muskrats instantly.

Our eyes under the water

grew solid dark.

My brother, me, the Pelletier girls and John.

We turned to one another as algae globs

bloated and stumbled past us in the flow.