I feel discord
in the arrhymic
hiss of foam
against my feet,
that scurries timid
sand crabs,
near invisible.
I scowl at sea
birds hanging close
anticipating
fallen morsels.
Strolling dark, hands
in pockets, I
stop and watch
the indecisive water
never making a decision
to stay or go.
Great lengths of kelp
glistening repulsive keep
intruders distant
from these sogggy brown
corpses of their ancestry.
I resent the
fat-cheeked moon
smiling down on me
in judgement -
I'd rather argue with
the crabs and birds, raise
my arms and beckon
storms return.
Across the dune I see
a vehicle parked,
unwelcome here,
drawn to these
compliant breezes. I
curse the sun
for breeding visitors
like biting flies in august.
All year long
these dead automatons,
these office refugees
in minivans and SUVs
arrive for shore-line weekends
pretending they're alive.
I wish the hurricanes
would cease their dallying
and Winter hasten its return.