Selfie at the Sea

Like grown-up children that dutifully visit
their old parents, carrying sad gifts of obligation
wrapped in crumpled sheets of guilt,

they come to see me when the sun is high
and their busy world seems empty of purpose,
and the old roads and goals are but a mirage
in the vibrating heat.

Dogs and children frolic, 
clawing, scratching, digging in the sand,
before stopping to sit with soiled faces and hands,
smiling like a hundred laughing Buddhas,
empty of thought, fulfilled, grand.

But soon, something stirs within,
a thought flaps like a flag in the wind,
now frantic, then flaccid,
falling back on itself, dejected,

like a weary bird tied to a pole,
wistful like a plastic toy stuck in the sand.

They like it when I’m blue, they do.
When I’m blue, they smile;
in my ancient melancholy pool,
they bathe and dream
that they emerge refreshed, anew.

Artists without a canvas, without paint,
they stretch me on the pegs
of their imaginary frames,
and see themselves in the middle --

heroes of a lazy afternoon,
faces to remember
for no one, never again.

 

Reviews

[Vol]

Laz
What a lovely collection of images that are real to all of us of a certain age... I have deep pity for those who grow up in America these days, kids who will never be laughing Buddhas, empty of thought...
Vol