Sunday, July 08, 2012

It’s Only Seventeen Quadrillion Gallons of Water

From this angle,
even the glittering water
just seems unhinged,
like a serial-killer
who prefers the summer
months, the thrill
of laughter and play
stretched out on the sand,
ah yes, yes, so close-by.

Lace of foam
at the water’s edge?
Hell, no.
Froth at the mouth. Spittle
of excitement. Drool.
The ocean wants to eat me,
process my precious parts,
no compromise, until I am
just an idea. My husband’s
beloved pattern dismantled.

So many shipwrecks,
skeletal slough now part
of the majesty of a whale,
oh poetry! The circle of life!

I should mention
the lifeguards are people
who still have locker
combinations to remember.

Soft-bellied and drowsy
from long vacations,
we wag in the waves,
leap, shine in saltiness
that keeps us thirsty.

Twist deeper,
ah yes, yes,
the hiss.


Mike Lindgren said...

Wow! That's a terrific poem! But now I am frightened! - MIKE

Indigo Bunting said...

"process my precious parts"