i am on the beach /
waiting for my resurrection
with the sand in my bad eye and
the smell of goose shit pungent and intrusive, uninvited.
2:30 pm , friday of may 24 weekend;
the beach is flat and empty of girls
(for whom i am waiting)
(will they know
how to save me ??) .
so far i have avoided sitting on a 3.5" nail, rusted, protruding from the duneside,
and several shards of a broken bottle beer,
keen to shred my winter-softened feet with their angry brown fangs.
i will pick up as much of the glass as i can find and go home, calling myself
a good samaritan.
"you're a shit." some seagulls say from the lake.
i pick up a rock and let fly; they are just out of range.
"you're a shit." they repeat as i walk back towards the footpath.
and yeah, they are probably right.