Still life blankets
concentrated on the brown skin shore
watching smiling circles
growing large and then smaller.
Kris runs to the waves and then sits
until the water kisses her and she yells “Yay!”
and runs back to her muddy brother Bobby’s holes in the sand
which he calls castles.
Lucille and Rosemary, greased for the sun
talk under the music
lying about their husbands, children and things that they don’t like.
The sun teases and pulls freckles
Like a mind remembering
Aunt Sophie, wrapped like a mummy,
on a plastic and metal chaise
disguising a flower sweetness, extinguishing.
Miguel holds cold water over Immaculada’s chest
And chases her while Brad and Brian watch her champion ass
Monica’s face got hit,
like a newly cracked facade,
she stares spitefully at strangers.
Her nose is sore and hot.
Then Sandy’s mother brings French fries,
ketchup and a cup of crushed ice.
James and Teresa reach for a sun
That trails like the veins of a feather.
Six- o’clock watchers
anciently stare to the water
like something that they don’t want to leave.
The crowd of boardwalk walkers
feel good about their showers and dry clothes
when they stare at the beach.