At beach side, where the Atlantic's scanned,
a yellow, blue, plastic child's pail,
sand castle building, soon washed away,
shark tooth gatherings are underway,
promising fossils emergence from another day.
At the edge of the hotel strip of nurtured grass,
young ladies in bikinis, elder counterparts too,
sunning themselves, taking a dare,
that melanoma is not their fate;
dermatologists suggest strongly,
that skin cancer can arrive early or late.
Myrtle Beach setting,once white skin retreat,
five black teenagers tossing a football,
Engrossed in a game, I played often before,
approximately sixty years ago, five less or more.
Strolling couples holding hands in conversation,
in their deep intimacy, they only understand.
An old seedily attired gentleman,
with a wild beard, seeks my company,
boasts a bit, shows me his treasures,
suggests life is simple and sweet,
shaggy appearance yet somewhat neat.
Is he an odd ball or a charlatan?
Simple wisdom, a rambling monologue...
is there an inner story, a life incomplete?
Others walk, seeking shells or shark teeth,
fool's gold searching, history without a price,
just relics washed in, gifts to children,
connections... when the earth began,
time's mementoes hidden in sand.
10th March 2002
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York.