Oh. The Past. Yes.

A boat from WW2
Has washed up shore

The repressed nightmare
Of some long inactive skull
It’s retro now we like it

Bleached sanitary ancestor
Telling fables about mistakes
How making them
Is secretly what we’re here for

When I go to the grocery
Store tomorrow I shall
Pretend to be a rotten old
Boat from WW2

Full of definition and seaweed
Rusting my hull to the register:

“Shucks ma’am, this don’t look like japan.
Don’t suppose you could point me towards

Shaking her head above newspaper
Headlines that haven’t been written yet
Her eyes row out to me
Like gale storm
Wearing a knitted sweater
In a dinghy filled with roast
Beef sandwiches
And lemon lime sports drinks