Swimming in the Sky

The sun creeps from its pillar
above the glistening water.
I clutch my father’s back,
the only thing protecting me
from spilling into
the cold waters of Long Lake.
A race starts,
as I shift myself in back
of a red and gold Sea-Doo,
my father and I
against another man
riding on a teal, purple and white Sea-Doo.
We churn up waves and disturb
those peace-loving fishermen
who criticize our way of fun
from their paused pontoons,
swerving and turning,
our paths intertwining,
a foamy white wake
trailing out from behind.
 
The horizon bleeds together
like a little boy’s watercolor picture,
and it was as if the Sea-Doos
could fly into the clear blue sky,
to a place of bluer waters.