The willows whipped us along the banks of the Crow River, the wind-driven lashings hustling us along on our cobbled raft between mucky dunes, over carp shadows, boulders whose slimy beards danced in waters stenched by the adhesive plant miles upriver. She and I were Tarzan and Jane, pirate and captive, boss and slave, poling deeper into the jungle, discussing her fate—flogging, short rations, thrown overboard. Later, we drifted in the sun on our backs.
the scent
of her wet swimsuit
after we took it off