The wind stings like
sand like fire ants in
summer, like salt. It roars.
Lays flat like flounder
like sand dollars, but
always with watery fins.
And gulls and pelicans
aloft their Atlantic well
beneath them, schools of
feeding fish in which to dip.
White bubbles of quietness
along the beach capture
the sun and quickly pop.
The streets are lonely as piers,
hotels and houses on stilts.
The town is out of season,
roller coaster, sand castles
and girls in bikinis.
Sea Oats rustle. Surfers
ride cold salty waves.
Driftwood drifts, seaweed,
I take the ocean home
a magical seashell found
beneath my toes, slipping
and sliding like the moon
like a yo-yo tucked
away one evening, a
pathway to the edge of earth,
the bed in which I sleep.
© Danny P. Barbare 2010
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Danny P. Barbare resides in Greenville, SC, where his poetry has won the Jim Gitting's Award at Greenville Technical College. He has recently been published in Breadcrumb Sins, Litsnack and Nefarious Ballerina, as well as other online and print publications.
Danny P. Barbare resides in Greenville, SC, where his poetry has won the Jim Gitting's Award at Greenville Technical College. He has recently been published in Breadcrumb Sins, Litsnack and Nefarious Ballerina, as well as other online and print publications.
