Ode to a Dead Swan

“Look, a dead swan”. Rupert had been dragged on this cruise down the Thames by his support group at the local community center. His sponsor had thought the outing would air his increasingly dark thoughts and misanthropy, and perhaps provide a hiatus in a series of breakdowns. The day had been uneventful until a dead swan came floating by, clad in death and no longer white. This had deeply agitated Rupert. While no one was looking, he’d snuck over the railing of the boat, looked back at the others with a wide grin, deployed his arms as if holding on to a parachute, and jumped. To everyone’s surprise, they looked out the window to see Rupert surfing on the back of the dead swan, sporting the latest dude attitude.

[In loving memory of that beautiful swan that chose its resting place by my house at chelsea bridge]