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Poetry #192
(published September 16, 2004)
The Flu Ferry
by Fritz Swanson

a prose poem for Sean Norton

Ferry? You mean Fairy.

I am imagining a small, ethereal double-decker flat-bottom-boat carrying thirty cars, all filled with the flu (who are, coincidently, little green goblins made of a miasmic gas) and the Ferry is driven by two little Fairies, a Fairy captain who is overworked and underpayed, and a little Fairy first mate whistling at the prow. The little boat,transluscent and floating, is the size of a bread box and slowly pushes through the waves of the air at night, churning its little triple screws right up to your sweaty, sleeping head. The front of the boat opens, a bell is clanging faintly, and one carload of flu disembarks (a rusting Datsun with three green goblin passengers). The Datsun pulls down the gangway and onto the soft purchase of your pillow and, shrinking as it goes, it drives straight into your half open mouth, the light of its headlights flicking on as it descends your throat. You cough, and a bit of olive colored exhaust passes your dry lips. The Ferry closes up, backs away from your pillow, and churns on through your wall into the cool November night.

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The Next Poetry piece (from Issue #193):

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