Low tide

brackish water smells of decaying reeds and fish

crabs scurry back into mud, await tide’s return

crest the dunes on bare feet; walk an empty beach

before sun microwaves the sand

unfold a chair at water’s edge, dip feet in foam,

read another horrible New Yorker academic poem

where sky and water meet, brown pelican skims waves,

fills grocery bag God suspended from its beak,

roosts on old pilings, eats sushi (plain without rice),

feeds scraps to waiting fish and flies away

as red dawn bleeds out to sapphire blue,

a fisherman cast his luck into the sea

taste fresh salt air on tongue,

walk back over the dunes, place chair in car,

put on sandals, grab wallet, walk into local café,

on a deck above tidal flats sit at favorite table

order an English muffin and crab cake for breakfast, sip hot tea,

and talk with the regulars about everything or anything,

but politics.

5/26