To the Shore
Buttons. Bells. Pencils. Coins. Matchsticks. Bumptious curmudgeons. Foul weather fiends. Better butter let’s your hair grow long. My god, it’s Tim…and Sally. And their pooch Pal. Down the estuary road, past the lighthouse and the crab carcass we’ll show them later. After dinner. The muttering has begun. Grumpy today. A single cloud makes a compact statement. Harmony is obvious. You can do it, the cloud’s publicist says. There’s plenty of space available in the engine room. By the way, how long ago did you make reservations? We…I stepped on a sharp stone and said, Hello! Good morning, island breakfast…bread & butter, coffee and spring water. Has anyone any idea just how expensive this exercise is? God rest my merry soul, I spy a pirate or two. Plying foreign waters…skull n’ crossbones. Best to bow, wave heartily. Keep your voice low. Don’t prove the point. Order not appreciated. These are the little nuances not worthy of mention…not now! Keep your bait bucket handy. Somersaults on the lawn at dusk. I’m quite sure we’ve met in kinder circumstances. The grip of the wheel. Bye bye birdie…pterodactyls too. He wasn’t the kindest of diner guests. He seems to have suffered mightily. Out of sight, out of pain. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a foolproof plan. Everyone can see that. Nobody differs with the King. Authority was frankly sad, passé. Has anyone seen my flip-flops? I’m to the shore, alone again at last.