a day at the beach

the air is fresh and clean and no 
one has thought to do anything
about it as i leave the cottage &
walk south on Wrightsville Rd
across shadows made by power
lines and traffic signs to Neptune
where i go left, past the barking
dogs, two blocks to the side 
of the Holiday Inn and up
through the grass and dunes to
a little ridge that catches the sun
and there she is, the big blue ocean

there are nice sets of waves rolling
in from the southeast; last night's
storm has rinsed things out and the
light filters through the thin curling
tops of the green water like a blade 
cutting portions for fishermen 

there's my poison says the old gal
in the bourbon aisle at the liquor store,
reaching down for the Early Times; she
hears my laugh and hers comes quick,
lit with cigarettes & whiskey & husbands

and the air is here and sweet and in me
just like everything you always wanted
if you just knew what you wanted

i am standing in a firm spot where tire
treads run through seagull tracks
when a big white dog runs up to me
and around me then back to a man
who says how do you like that herding
instinct? and i smile and say i like it fine

its Thanksgiving Day, and i go up a dune
and sit down in the sunshine where i
can like everything fine
real good



© Copyright 2000 Peter Chapman

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