Abandoned Glove
Plastic glove
with crumpled fingers
peeking from the sand,
I wait for a human
hand to appear,
to slip inside
its latex sheath
of safety and protection.
I wonder about the glove’s function
and mercy,
a surgeon’s apparatus
abandoned,
unemployed
and without a mask.
Beaches of Santa Cruz
In the early morning
when only scavengers
appear in hidden places,
the trash cans overflow
on the beaches of Santa Cruz
It’s royal treasures
are now available
to the needy,
each trash can
affords another life
to maintain
Bursting from its bounty,
enticing the hungry,
marred food for old fools
in makeshift tents
and sleeping bags.
Vulnerable Pause
A freeze frame
of emotion
a vulnerable pause
inone, angled look
the drama of insecurity
inself-reflected eyes
shame,a sea of doubt
swirling winds
ina moment of despair
I’ve seen that hurt look before
in a woman’s tears.
Viral Whispers
Masking my feelings
Covering up my demons
I hide in darkness
A disfigured loner
Who walks the shores at night
A leper in layers of clothing
Echoes from those lost at sea
I am shipwrecked and hungry
I carry death’s calling card
I find secret messages in whiskey bottles
Pornography on the sand
Building bonfires to keep me warm
Symbolic, colicky ocean sirens
Viral whispers
Microscopic infectors
Luring me close and ignorant
To breath’s fatal disease.
