Beach Road

[Draft #1 of another short nostalgia-prompted poem]

There should be that moment of hesitation—

wherein the moving cars are caged behind the lines,

itching to lash out in front. And yet,

that perfect moment nearly always comes

even if you have to hold out your hand to an invisible

mother, father, worker, master,

and slip by the metallic objects in space…

through the urban layout

past the uneven stone graveyard wall

…and onto the beach road.

Sand spills out onto the asphalt,

and small waves crash in just over the wall of sand

and short wooden bridge.

There’s a dim purple in sky that hides just beyond the eye’s reach.

It’s concealing childish memories

along with the primordial infant self

that just wants to melt languidly

and lie down in the grass in the vestige of sunlight

and try to find the comforting past, hiding,

beneath the piles of leaves

rustling on the passing lawns.


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