Some out riding, some on skates, some promenading
with strollers—“Take me for a ride in your car, car”
bumps to the offbeat, wheel gimpy.
The waves, blue and twinkling, scallop in mildly,
foam kitchy-cooing, music of milk kisses puckering, popping.
A day so bread-and-jam fine, so red-shovel fine
the kids dig holes and watch water fill them, dig holes
and watch water fill them. So golden-glow fine,
here at the end of the world, on a Friday,
playcalls dispersing, moms walking
elephant-style, blankets under one arm,
tote bags with sleeves dangling out the top
banging knees from the other.
Over there, a drift-stick upright in the sand.
Over there, a fat butt in blue dots.
Over there, farther, the silver-white ferries
putter like dreaming. Heads and cars, shiny as pins,
gleam to their green homes on the island.
I’m here on a bench, bike leaned at my knee,
my bag with its sunscreen and notebook,
small bottle, from home, of fresh water.
Copyright © Molly Tenenbaum
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.