The Duck Shit at Clarion Creek

We liked to stick it in a bb gun and shoot it. We tattooed with it. We said hallelujah, the poor man’s tanning lotion. Then the frack wells began, something black capping the water and we got high watching a green-backed heron die. We got funny at Clarion, flung each other’s underwear into the trees. Why was it we got naked there and nowhere else? Maybe we knew we were getting good and ugly, rusted inside as the trucks we rode into the water. Maybe we knew we only appeared to be floating, but soon and wholly we’d go under, and there would be nothing of return.