Winter Morning at the Shore

in the morning the ocean is calm,

trash trucks canvass the boardwalk,

preparing receptacles for a new day’s rush,

the air is cool but not cold,

life ticks on,

gulls fly by, waves dance,

everything as it should be,

everyday;

on tv, the talk is about Syria and

new righteous wars,

but the dolphins and gulls

don’t know about these things,

and neither should we;

but still we do;

it is in our nature,

it is our heritage,

and so we will,

but it is of our own choosing,

we have options;

alone, I go for a walk on the boardwalk,

Chinese Christians gather on the beach,

praying to someone or something,

trying to make sense of it all,

I watch from afar,

thinking about my work,

and promises made but not kept,

about the predictability of it all,

and how sometimes, you wish you were wrong,

just once;

watching the ocean waves,

pounding slowly on the sandy shore,

realizing that they could care less,

that everyone but me could care less

and perhaps, I should care less too;

I think of my father,

and how I wish I could show him,

that it doesn’t always have to be his way,

that it is okay to feel good,

that it is okay to simply be;

but I know that I never will;

winter at the shore is the best time of all,

for some it is a given, others hold fast to it,

like a man drowning in the ocean,

later these thoughts will mean nothing,

but for the moment they are everything;

they are all there is;

perhaps the golden years won’t

be so bad after all,

maybe they will be just

what was needed;

or at least something new;

crawling back into bed,

reaching for her warm body,

happy to be where I am at;

happy for one more breath.

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