Upturned canoe held above
it serves to deflect a thick skull's
punching glove
as it shields from the sky that rains.
With a circling motion
the dull throbbing drains
from the horseshoe imprint
stamped on my gut,
oars propped up a lumbered strut.
My walking stick stuck in a crack
sidewalk stampedes
would've broke my back
if it weren't for this flipped over boat.
When I reach the shore
with the vessel I tote,
curved side down it's a floating umbrella
pothole puddles
ain't gonna drown this fella.

Nice poem .

Thanks for having a look and taking a moment to acknowledge what I shared, Julie.

UNIQUE

Thanks, Robin.

Another great poem!!!!

Thanks for your kind feedback, poet.