SUZETTE
Cramp the carp-faced carapace
downward and only then try lighting
the candle. Outside this old seaside cabin
the brown dog howls and the busy terns
run freely. Any way, what's the equivalent
of flying here? I watch you making tea with
those glorious lips and whatever that is that
you're wearing. Thank God for women,
it seems my heart says.
-
The jagged screen is slapping anew. From
it, I still can catch the surf - all that rise and
fall and fury - seaweed and kelp, rocks and
mussels. There does seem always a wind
or a surface breeze, like to something
churned up and constant through
turbulence and slow movement.
So like my aging heart again.
-
Why do some men live on into a great
old age, and prosper - I have to wonder
on this long and salty Summer afternoon -
while others, like here, die lolling and
gagging on the sand, still with their
metal detectors in their hands?
-
The sun seems like it will never stop,
and I am waiting, and waiting I shall be.
The old beachfront wood, of houses and
sheds, has weathered all this forever. I too
will go on, bearing the cost of time like some
flagrant beachcomber's ragged shawl, intent
on survival and sure of all. Outside, the sea,
and all that is : I'll sit here and watch you
make that tea (a very simple man I'll be).
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