A hammock sways lazily
pushed ever so gently by the ocean breeze
where the grass fades to grains of sand
about a stone's throw away from the dock
where he fished with his father
where his father had yelled at him
for throwing back the fish
which he had left to suffocate on the dock
we could've eaten that
I'd prefer Howard's Pub
There is a coffee shop
with a vast lawn
and a small porch beneath an old wooden arcade
they sold good coffee,
and worked for their tips,
There are endless beaches
which most tourists never see
hidden beaches hiding behind signs marked:
private
and he got ****** on almost all of them
And there was a night
****** off of whiskey and Johnny Cash
were he laid atop a picnic table
drunkenly trying to count the stars
breathing in unison with the cosmos.
and there were pretty locals
riding around on bikes
the kind that you have to pedal backwards
to work the brakes,
and there is music
endless amateurs plying their crafts
to anybody who had a spare moment
leathery, salty, sticky, sweaty beach people
people who live in small shacks
which they made by hand,
who live off the fish in the Atlantic
and the good will of good people,
they said there was a lost colony or something there
and I think they still are there
a special breed of people
who have no idea what a franchise fast food restaurant is
people who live at a slower pace
than the ticking hands of all of the big money clocks
people who live in a place
where the Pelicans reign supreme
the people of Ocracoke Island