I called it a river. Not sure anyone else would.
I was eight years old. A stream of water ran past my window every Friday.
At the same time a neighbor washed his car and left the hose running.
To me it was a navigable waterway and steamers would plie its waters.
I sat fishing on the river bank.
One day I caught a big yellow sponge.
The neighbor’s car didn’t look so clean that week.