The working man's beach
sweats in kindergarten
drops, where people
still fish outside
restaurants
and the exact contours
of the hills blur
under the sun's milky dusk.
The wind toils to organize
the gulls, who are chased
by a lone small dog,
treating every proletarian
inch of the second class
shore as if it were his,
and his alone.
Copyright (c.) 2009 by Adam Henry Carriere. All Rights Reserved.
