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Moods of Lake Michigan

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Nothing

captures Midwestern melancholy

quite like Lake Michigan.

In the winter it is

a gray lake locked in ice.

Morose and morbid

sitting and waiting like

an ashen flounder covered

and lying in wait

 to gobble

up some unsuspecting ship and her

naive crew.

Smoldering summer comes

with no spring or fall between,

and under the waves

the rotting garbage

and medical whatnot, all

bent and buried beneath the

torrid, boiling waters.  The

aquatic life has quit.  The sandy

bottom is nothing but a

Siberian steppe.

So enough with the façade,

wash ashore your dead fish

and shitty waves.  All your

beaches are closed

anyways.

Comments (2)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

I like this poem. It's has a dark side to it and finishes well.

Joshua Hennen
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Much appreciated

cquinn91
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