Poem 92: Submerged (Ocean City, Md., June, 2013)
Submerged
(Ocean City, Md., June, 2013)
From shore, hardly a splash was heard when the spiraling, two-seat plane hit the water.
Aghast, the people stood among their umbrellas in oily bronze-pink-and-white clusters, looking out to sea, shielding their eyes against the glare with hands, hats, and celebrity magazines.
Some asked, uncertainly, if they shouldn't do something.
Their quieter neighbors secretly looked forward to exciting gossip in the restaurants that night.
At the water's hissing edge, children continued to splash and build sand castles on the hard wet sand.
Others, seeing their parents' expressions, wondered nervously if they should stop having fun now.
Half a mile out, the fuselage slipped--unassumingly, without a trace--beneath the surface.
Smooth, blue-green swells rolled in from the east, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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