Lines from the Beach

I eat pea pods and carrots and hard boiled eggs for breakfast while a milky blue ocean rolls and roars in the distance.

I sit cross legged on the beach. Odd, I haven’t sat that way in years.

A few minutes ago, I laughed at some of the randy messages left in the forts. Forts do that to some people. Someone even drew a picture of his prodigious genitalia and claimed it was to scale.

A woman walks the wrack line alone. She’s beachcombing in black platform shoes and wearing sunglasses.

Walmart opened in Warrenton yesterday. The giddyness is palpable. Strange that giddyness is a precursor to a death rattle.

Three gulls fly overhead.

Barn swallows dive bomb the fort.

Waves wallop the jetty.

Here comes a Coast Guard helicopter on its routine patrol.

Here come geese!

A lone fishing boat undulates out to sea.

I’m learning to play “Vacation” by the Go Go’s on the guitar that my attorney bought me on a snowy afternoon when I still believed in justice. I love this song. There’s a lot more in it than vacation.

I keep thinking of that hummingbird I saw fly through fire. I can’t get the image out of mind. Why try? This moment feels like a five-page children’s book. One copy.

Piles of dead kelp rot on the sand. I love watching adults jump rope with dead kelp. I love when kids lash each other with kelp. I once played in a rock band called Servants of the Kelp. We played one song and then broke up.

Black and white clouds collide in a bright blue sky. The collision creates a heretofore unseen shade of gray. I am the only one to see it.

Is this a poem?