The Dire Straits

One night I was in dire straits.
They’re not listed on any map,
though my GPS told me
to take the second right after the light,
then bear straight
past the ugly yellow house.
Suddenly there I was,
coursing down a channel
of surging water.

Bigger than Gibraltar or Hormuz,
it was like all of them
coming together in one place.
It was one tight strait.
There was no time to think
how I got there
or why the straits were dire
and how come you never hear
about mild or unimportant straits.

I could barely hold my head above the swift current,
bobbing up and down
like a condemned witch at a Salem trial.
There was no choice but to go with it.
Then I remembered my geography,
especially dear old Miss Zander,
who taught us about famous straits
and how they always opened up
into a larger body of water.

Before long I found myself
coated in rainbow layers of plastic
floating in a remarkably comfortable
putrid sea of garbage
that calmed and soothed my soul.