I lean over the rail,

watch the red paddle wheel

stir water to a froth,

 

throwing mist and October air

blown down from Indiana

into my face.

 

Sometimes steam blinds me

and smells of old pipes,

like a laundry.

 

On deck number two

they’re playing rag time

and I think of New Orleans

 

how I’ve never been there

and of the Titanic which

had no steam but a grand staircase,

 

then of a book I read

about a steam boat captain

and his red head bride.

 

I live there

in ball room dance days

and Mark Twain memories

 

until a student asked,

“Teacher, you got a quarter?”

 

http://www.steamboats.org/steamboat-pictures/belle-of-louisville.html