One Finger in the Water

Here, at the tip of this finger,
is the end of me,
mildly flirting with the ripples
of the duck pond,
wondering if that old otter
will poke out of the waters
and nip that wayward digit
or will he realize
that that’s where I leave off,
that I’m no threat
and there is no more of me
beyond the point
of my unconscious dallying.
As a definition of myself,
on soft moss-green banks,
it’s enough for any otter.
As intrusions go,
it’s on the cool and shallow side.

~ John Grey

John Grey is an Australian born poet, US resident since late seventies. Works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Slant, Briar Cliff Review and Albatross with work upcoming in Poetry East, Cape Rock and REAL.

Read more of John Grey’s poetry:
As Night Approaches
Poem for the Birds
The Town Below

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