Turtle On Head
We began the swamp on foot.
This was a bad idea,
a turtle suddenly on my head,
a large one, I dreamed, a snapper.
I could just make out the
creased unwrinkling of one short khaki leg
as it dangled down my brow like
an ancient bang; its mottled shell,
a dangerous helmet.
You somehow got a boat, turned to my aid.
“Don’t use the oar,” I pleaded,
as you hoisted the long, smoothed wood,
but I could see aim in your eyes.
shut mine.
(This is today’s draft. Any suggestions? Especially at beginning or end, let me know.)
ManicDDaily 
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