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Boat Racing
David Henson


We imagined
rain trickling down
the side of our street
was a roaring river
and the slivers of bark
not much bigger than a tree
splinter my dad
tweezed from my palm,
were speedboats.

Wet pavement reflecting
our yellow slickers,
we watched our racers
careen over pebble dams,
under oak-leaf bridges,
‘round Milton’s curve.

It was easy to track them
from our three-foot height.

The race ended
at hill’s bottom
in a mud puddle always
perfect for stomping.

We didn’t care who won.

© by David Henson.
Used with the author's permission.


David Henson is the author of two chapbooks and his award-winning work has appeared in a variety of online and print journals. In addition to writing, David enjoys playing classical and boogie woogie piano. David and his wife have lived in Belgium and Hong Kong over the years, but now live in Illinois, where they enjoy walking with their dog. Learn more about David at




Post New Comment:
This is such a fun poem.
Posted 05/21/2024 11:51 AM
Many thanks for your comments!
Posted 05/20/2024 04:34 PM
Lori Levy:
I can see this scene clearly!
Posted 05/20/2024 12:36 PM
Such fun and fond memories of being free to create a state of simple satisfaction on a less than stellar day. Enjoyed your memory replay very much.
Posted 05/20/2024 10:03 AM
Larry Schug:
I feel like I'm with the kids in this poem. Good work.
Posted 05/20/2024 08:50 AM

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