after Seurat
No one could have foreseen
the catastrophe-it rose from
the still water and the sun
blocked out by spring chapeaus
and parasols. They were waiting,
or posing-and here and there a dog
poked at the ground, and the smoke rose
lazily from the boater's pipe. Earlier
a mother wiped an eyelash from her daughter's cheek,
the local rowing crew powered their way
across the water, and the town lush slid vermouth
down his throat.