Do geese see God?
Speaking of palindromists, A man, a plan, a canal – Panama!
The Mule presides over Oriana's aft end. The swimming pool is sunk into deck five but when the lock fills again her hull will dwarf him. They'll tether and he'll haul her out. Diesel-faced canal workers dead-eye stare and sneer with smeared chins. Pasajeros frolic bake and peer through opera glasses. Alarms clatter, our armed escort barks and photographers scamper scattering off the lock gates. Taking our turn in the middle look at me look at me with one foot on each America. An automaton blares incomprehensible instructions through the stinking Panamanian haze. Loud hailers spaced on telegraph poles every 50 yards. She sounds like the teacher in Good Grief Charlie Brown.