A speedboat thunders across the lake
melody and voice of Bob Marley in uplift
the wetsuit-clad boy takes flight on a board

The boy on the lake twists overhead
a human kite, sticking it like a gymnast
on the other side of the wake

That night his best friend inhales a pile
of dirty snow until bloody foam
pours from his nose and mouth

The best friend dead by the time
the kids drag him out to the canal dock,
the paramedics speeding over the bridge

The white-wakes bubble like water fountains
behind the jet-boats, fading laughter

Stupid questions swim in his brain
as he looks on, helpless

Rich kids who learned to walk on parents’ docks,
and whipped across the water on inflated tubes

Why did they rush for the next best thing
like speedboats, eager for a wake to hurl them,
rather than paddle for an ocean wave, and wait?

Questions trail him, long after the friend
is lowered into the earth,
no water burial for a life so brief,
no rebirth—
why can’t there be such a thing as a water burial?

Later, behind the boats the kids steer
the sun collapses, the water glimmers
like millions of shards of frosted glass