oh, you habitual absentee
you flagrant devotee to the sun
to the sand, to the salt air
you – the steadfast student of the
Royal Tern and the Western Sandpiper
who dares to lie about your
upon the sands of Pompano Beach
your face buried in the folds
of your Polar Fleece solar blanket
your golden hair scattered – unfettered
across your bronze, barren shoulders,
your lavender bikini askew and terribly
undone in a lone act of worship
to the Sun god
and you say to me that
the damned Bookshop deserves to be shuttered
…no one requires another second hand
romance novel by Nora Roberts, nor
Tom Clancy thriller,
nor used-boorish-business-book by
a self absorbed New York
nor a moldy volume of earthy poems
sodden old New England poet
nor a slim volume of
penned by a decrepit old beatnik
nor a magazine with prattling
celebrity scuttlebutt –
as you tell me so often –
and quite gently
that our days are measured
often in inches
and not in yards.
This was a cruel poem to post today when we just received a foot of snow. Which was, of course, measured in inches …
I apologize Elyse. Spring is on the way though…Thank you so much for reading.
It’s beginning to look a lot more like Christmas than spring! Or I should say continuing to look …
Nor the book by John James Audubon that I leaf through on beach days and insert feathers on my favorite pages.
Thank you for stopping by. I know that book…
Can’t wait to see your poems in a book….I agree with Elyse…We got more snow and spring and bikinis is about the last thing on our minds…But the calendar will go to March 20…not sure the weather will show up…but we can always hope…..
Thank you Nancy. Was working on putting that book together last night. Contacted my graphics guy to do the cover. More work than you would think. Thanks for reading.