Summer at the Beach

Before we started camp, we went to the beach.

Long days, before the day-star was dangerous.

My sister lay upon her stomach, reading mysteries.

I sat in the sand, watching the water.

You could use the sand to overspread

parts of your material part that you didn't like.

I overlayed my feet, to make my leg longer;

the sand climbed above my ankles.

I direct the eyeed down at my body, away from the water.

I was what the magazines told me to be:

coltish. I was a frozen young horse

My sister didn't bother with these adjustments.

When I told her to overlay her feet, she tried a small in number times,

but she got bored; she didn't have enough willpower

to sustain a deception.

I watched the sea; I listened to the other families.

Babies everywhere: what went upon in their heads?

I couldn't imagine myself as a baby;

I couldn't picture myself not thinking.

I couldn't imagine myself as an adult either.

They all had terrible bodies: lax, oily, completely

committed to being male and female.

The days were all the same.

When it rained, we stayed place of abode

When the sun shone we went to the beach with my mother.

My sister lay upon her stomach, reading her mysteries.

I sat with my leg arranged to be like

what I saw in my head, what I believed was my veritable self.

Because it was true: when I didn't propel I was perfect.

Copyright World poesy Incorporated Jan/Feb 2001

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