My body weight presses down upon you,
Pushing you under the water,
But you do not protest.
You do not fight back,
Although movement consumes you,
As you rock to and fro.
Seconds pass,
Turning into minutes.
Still, you move,
As I sit atop you,
Readying myself for our aqueous pas de deux,
While nearby witnesses idle by,
Paying little heed to our commingling.
I have no regrets
Being seen with you,
Mostly by water fowl near shore.
Oh, my kayak,
How I love riding the water
On top of your rotomolded plastic form.
My love for you cannot be kept secret,
Thanks to your neon lime green color
That is visible from space.
It eliminates any chance of a clandestine paddle,
When we are as one on the water.
You take such care of me,
Bravely protecting my bottom,
As you scratch and ding yours
On submerged rocks and branches.
You warn me with a metal placard
Riveted to your green skin
Of a 225 lb. max weight capacity.
Is that because of concern
That the extra pounds I carry
May result in health-related issues for me,
Like diabetes and high cholesterol?
Or is that a federally mandated requirement
For water craft to display?
I hope the former
And blush at your thoughtfulness.
When I first saw you,
Your charms were impossible to resist,
Especially your ability
To fit into my SUV
With the seats folded flat,
Saving me the cost of a roof carrier.
Always thinking of me,
Aren’t you?
You remain constantly on my mind,
As you are visible from our family room window,
Sitting idly under our pergola
That was once used for entertaining,
But now is repurposed for kayak storage,
Much to my wife’s displeasure.
What she doesn’t realize is that seeing you
Inspires me to slide my ample posterior
Into your inviting lime hull
For a workout on the river
To shed pounds like you shed water.
Well, perhaps not pounds but ounces.
Okay, would you believe one ounce,
If I paddle really hard?
That maximum weight capacity may be reached
Someday in the future.
But thanks to you, my kayak,
Not today.
I dip my paddle
And steal away across the water
With my love.