Life’s a Beach

On my foot, moored, secure as a lovebite
A sea anemone caresses the
Thick water deliberately like bunched blind
Man’s fingers. The last of the cockles that
Once stuccoed my shins dropped off when the skin
Unpuffed and the rot set in. Sometimes the
Ocean inhales: I’m soused in bitter air.
When hailed by the moon, it slopes off, reluctant
To release my flesh, translucent and laced
With decay, to the whims of what’s out there.

But it soon edges back, bashful at first,
Whetting its thirst on my toe, then my sole;
And on it rolls, nursing my fish-nibbled
Fissures with salt, which the snails massage in;
Keeps me boozy with its sting; cemented
With contented ennui. My arms bob,
Pinned like buoys between sea and sky, slicked
With algae’s creeping verdigris; the parts
That stay dry, like my eyes, are enfolded
With mould’s downy nap. Still I let it sap.

If someone should happen upon me, as
They strode along the beach, sitting, sedate
And stagnant, in an armchair on the edge
Of water, between here and there, they would
Suspect foul play – I must have been tethered
Like a maid to train tracks. Could they guess that
My silence was not frantic? They would not
Understand – my submission to the swell
Would eddy round campfires for a summer
Or two, where bugs kamikaze into

Candles, each carcass becoming waxy
And one with the quivering femme fatale.
When conversation ebbed they would try to
Figure out how many times I’d been re-
Embalmed in brine and silt. How many cold
Embraces did it take to perfect me
To that sorry state? I can’t remember
Why I first sat down here; how I came to
Cower ecstatically; maybe I’ll think
On it… while I stay just a little longer….


07/07/03