Beneath the naked Niagara,
bones of barrel bandits lie,
concrete rock structures
polished like gemstones.
Deposited below
fleeting freshwater,
expired wishes marked by
copper coins.
Fallen from tiny hands,
troves of tourist trinkets
gone forever when Johnny ventured
too close to the edge.
Hydroelectric turbines roar upriver
like castrated bulls,
Iroquois ancestors incapable
of comprehending the fall.
Juxtsposed across the border,
the Horseshoe runs strong.
Kabuki theater draws
crowds to the spectacle,
lost in a lusty trance,
honeymooners overlook
marooned fisherman drydocked
upriver.
Nude riverbeds reveal
rocky crags and
orthogonal striations
stamped into stone by the
parade of relentless rapids.
Quagmiric and directionless,
unabashed quickening
rapids rumble and roar
as they approach the apex.
Sunlight struggles
to crackle the clouds,
transforming dewdrops into a
royal blue pastel.
Ubiquitous wet
colors the air,
Vacillating visions
of the fleeting rainbows.
Water, ambiguous
and ambivalent,
criss-crossing
the ravine,
aquatic yo-yo,
violently up and down,
zigzagging gravity.
Abundant water.
John Johnson is the rare poet who loves language but also data and numbers. He resides in Northern Virginia where in addition to running his consulting firm as a professional econometrician, he loves pizza, professional wrestling, and regularly writes with his wild writing circle. Johnson’s poetry tends to focus on humorous aspects of his geeky childhood and his journey as it relates to entrepreneurship, family and friendship, and failed athletic endeavors. He has two recently published chapbooks: In the Mind of the Anxious Traveler by Kelsay Books and Chalk Dust Memories by Plan B Press. His website is poemsovercoffee.com.