Friday, July 16, 2010

Long Beach Island, a poem for Old Sh*t Fridays

4 o'clock
high tide
lugging big while buckets to the beach
fishing's better off of the surf
smelling sea salt on the air
white dunes looming
beach becoming smaller, smaller
Daddy's fishes larger, larger
Mommy sits on the flowered sheet
rubbing Ban de Soliel on her fair skin
I sit
waiting for the ocean to come
& grab me
I walk to the surf
and feel the smooth sand pull on my feet
feel the ocean moving me in
feel the tides
shifting me out to sea...

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