On Bremerton Ferry

Endless chatter. A child
whines about putting on sunscreen.
His father is a sun person.
An older woman coddles the smallest dog
I’ve ever seen, almost dangling it
over the side of the ship.
A couple lies asleep
on the bench, heads
lolling beautifully
toward one another,
mouths open slightly.
The mountain frowns
over everything.

Some of the stories I tell
are true; others not.
Will anyone ever ask
about this: the sunlight
glinting on the water,
jellyfish floating like fried eggs
just beneath the surface; death
everywhere among the waves, all the glass
rattling with the engine’s leviathan roar?
Tell me please: How can anyone
sleep through all of this?