Stream-of-Consciousness 44

Pieces of the dock that my father built
Are now destroyed,
Fallen away.

The pink house
Next door to us,
Has faded to a delightfully ugly
Strange
Salmon
Shade of orange.

The fog
Is lifting.

There are many missing boards--
Broken,
But not necessarily unfixable.

I can now see the mile marker
In the middle of the channel.

The sister of a formerly
Very dear friend
Once found a horseshoe crab
And placed it at the end of the dock.
It has now washed ashore,
Covered in holes.

Now that the fog has gone,
The gnats begin to attack me--
Tiny vultures, innumerable soldiers
In a vampiric army.

I can see the bridge now,
As I'm being eaten alive
With only my jacket and
Long golden-brown hair
To protect me.

The water is so still,
The image of tranquility--
Would it be damaged if I were to
Jump
Right
Now?