There used to be
soft wet sand
beneath my feet
and in-between
my wriggling toes.

There used to be
teenagers
and a little me
going swimming.

Adolescents
played in
swim suits
as their bare skin
took the nibblings
of tiny fishes
that never bit me.

There used to be
a brown shack
of a building
with plastic seats
where wet buts
would wiggle
and squeak
as I got
something to eat.

We would all play
while grandparents
sat, talk,
and sometimes watched
the Lawrence Welk show.

Now that bed of water
is no longer wet.
Now it is a dusty bowl
of forgetful sorrow.