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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
