Tuesday, February 1, 2011

The Pool

What is moving, the breeze
or the briny waters?

Ripples of mercury run herring-bone
to the sea, wavelets on the move
like cliff-bound lemmings
fated to die, pools abandoned
by the tide and left behind crabs
Sole the size of your thumb
dash from wading children
who peer delighted and ankle-safe
holding their bright red pails
The drone of planes seem lazy,
the cry of gulls a comfort,
the smell of salt nostalgic

Wistful mothers watch
from blankets and wonder
if it was ever fun for them

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