Will you dream it into being
this object that you
desire so
whose name you do not know?
When he closed his eyes, he
could see anything, chain
link fences, whitewashed stone walls
picket fences, and clotheslines
full of clouds and rainbows
There was a red plastic bucket
with a green tin shovel for
the sand
which had stopped being fun and started b
to reproach him as he walked past it, not looking
at the ugly
ocean or the beach that
wanted to poke his eyes
he no longer felt like
the seagulls were his friends
at first they were
indifferent to his plight,
now they
dive bombed his shadow
and hated on him
like rusty nails
though he could not
ever
talk to animals he
felt sure he could
recognize the most
wretched bird curses
and promises
to
murder.
Here he was at the end
of the world
the perfect blonde children
gone home for
classes
their older selves
of child rearing age
gone too
having precisely arranged
the recycling,
beer bottles on one side
wine, more graceful and better-dressed
on the other,
like a middle school dance
with vodka bottles in
between (spinster chaperones ?)
He wants to
drag his cow
of a suitcase by
a rope, over
the sand , road, sidewalk
to his cool, dark home
while mom and
the man she married take too
long to pack the car.
