The Great Peoria Ocean

With shirtless abandon I daily raced down the cinder alley on
	Indian feet to Roger's yard who lived four houses from
	the vacant lot where new cabbages were growing,

And we played raft.

We were cast adrift on the Great Peoria Ocean more vast than a
 	thousand thousand cornfields rising and falling in huge
	swells within a circle of gray horizons.

When we dove into the water to spear our daily food we heard the
	voice of an unspeakable creature,

Like the howl-sing of whale talk,

Or the unrelenting screech of chalk 

Across a blackboard,

But it was neither whale, nor chalk

But just... something...

Even now that I am middle aged I hear the sound of whale-sing and chalk 
	echoing between dark ocean ranges beneath undulating
	tons of water,

And I still long to haul the ancient thing screaming into
	language.