Fire Water

The oars on the boat rowed as though

they were the raindrops of the torrent 

sliding off the slate rooftops on the houses

lining the shore or the centipede skittering

through my kitchen or my fingers scratching

a travelling itch or my cotton candy hair flying

in the wind 

rapids raise my oars and I cannot manage

when I was a child I had a Mary Poppins puzzle 

whose pieces were stored in a canister that once held

a bottle of my father’s favorite bourbon

do not fight fire with fire 

do not fight water with water

when I come up for air 

the water will boil.