Niagra

Poetry by Ted Boughter-Dornfeld Copyright © 2009

Bundled up, and stomping through
arctic white snow, listening
to the Love Below. I look
out on the Maid of the Mist,
the air surrounds my cold cheeks,
numbs them like an icy kiss.

Who could truly be so dumb,
brave those falls in a barrel
run? Ripley’s has me unnerved
believe it or not, the same
nervous rush I feel, before
the prick from a booster shot.

After awhile, we are off
to dine in neon towers,
where we spend hours, soaking
in the bath of a night-time
sky. The glint of flush colors
reflecting against buildings.

The sound of water raging,
amidst mouthfuls of moonlight,
it looks like the world’s been staged.
But back to rest in a spiral
hotel, it’s been a lively day;
Where we pull up the covers,
and that’s where we will remain.

Niagra Falls Night Winter

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