Why get into the box
When you can think from outside
Pack your ideas instead
To send the box as gifts
Your ideas will be a present
To shape the future

Sarasota Beach.
You’d been to this place
Before, long before



You’d met Earl or his
Sour sister Pearl
Or her friend Mrs



Gillespie for this
Picnic on this stretch
Of sand. When was that



Now? A girl then. And
Not picnicking. Who
Was it with back then?



The Milton boy? Yes.
Him with the dark hair
And big blue eyes. You’d



Walked this beach hand in
Hand thinking it love,
Thinking you’d found the



Core to your being.
Didn’t of course. It
Hadn’t got too far.



You kissed, held hands, spoke
Words, laughed, caressed, but
Nothing more. Least ways



You didn’t want to,
Not then, not with him,
Just like that. You stare



Out at the sea now.
Earl says, what are you
Gazing at? Ain’t you



Seen the sea before?
Pearl sits quiet, deep
In thought. Maybe she



Had an adventure
Of love here, who knows.
Mrs Gillespie



Eats away and speaks
Small talk between large
Mouthfuls. You recall



The Milton boy for
His ardent attempt
At going further,



Trying to venture
Beneath your dress back
Then. Smacked his hand of



Course. He stopped, withdrew
His hand, frustrated
And sulked. Never got



His way though.  He boiled
Up inside, you guess.
Went with that Kelly



Girl not long after,
Maybe she gave way,
You don’t know. Smiled a



Far bit after that,
The Milton boy, her
On his arm, looking



At you with that look
Of his. You look back
At Earl and watch him



Eat, holding a dull
Conversation with
Mrs Gillespie



Between bites. The sea
And wind seem the same,
The gulls, the smell of



Sea and salt and a
Long lost age. Aren’t you
Going to eat? Earl



Says. Plenty here, he
Mutters. Pearl stares at
The sea. Maybe she



Had a lover once,
But lost it all, you
Muse, just like me.

grey and worn
the lawn chair has dead leaves stuck to it
its one bent arm an expression of pained indifference
mud clings to its feet
and a single vine like a thin snake
wraps its way across its frame seeking the sun
i pull at it to set the chair right
to seat myself
and **** at the breeze from the open field
marvel that a cow stands not five feet away
silently watching my every move with a wary eye
lunching on the grass and ****
but the chair now uprooted from its long held position
seems more than ever a proclamation
of mans intent to be seated here on heavens lawn
clear illustration of the intent that you are supposed to
take this bent greasy seat
sit at your leasuire
in the bountiful sunshine
it is one of a dozen in the field
in this beautiful slice of heaven

the lawn chairs
litter the field like broken teeth
set in a line that wanders across the wilderness growth
each having suffered from years standing in the open field
two almost completely consumed by bushes
one had been tossed into the tree
where time had swallowed it into the bark
this broken and brutalized fence of chairs
these lawn chairs of heaven's field
sit in this beautiful place some would say eyesore
i say artwork of life's randomness...
what party of fools once sat here
dressed no doubt for the occasion
perhaps celebrating
perhaps mourning
then got up from these plastic seats
and left them behind as testament
to that forgotten day...
so i sit in heavens lawn chair
a mute salutation to my unknown compatriots
who painted this pastoral scene
of plastic in a field

I think that I shall never see
A leaf as lovely without a tree
When it falls upon the ground
So gently placed to be found.
A child gathers it in her hands
Carefully places it on the sands
Hoping to grow a brand new tree
For all the world new life to see.