A poem about the tin canoes my brothers made. in those days 1950s there were no Xboxes,T.V. Most people made their own entertainment.

One mile from where the pavement ends stands the old homestead where my swimming tale begins.

Every rural neighborhood that has water develops one of these. On a hot summer day you can find half the local population hanging out here. The other half have their own pool…but that’s another story.

A man’s unusual gift haunts his dreams.