And So the Flies

~And So the Flies~

 

Flies buzz kelp tossed aground

as brown eels monkey pool to pool

beneath the foam where broken creatures

churn and grind into mundane sand.

 

The cafe's dated tablecloth,

checkered white and blue,

is soiled from years of deep-fried fare,

sand from the shells you took

to your dryland guy

with his basket of loot, sunny car,

and common sense.

 

I size-up the prevalent wind,

and from where I'm seated, your glass,

my glass, the spent bottle

and sourdough crumbs, still

as life becomes without you

suggest it's time to go.

 

The waitress brings the check. I pay,

deal out the tip,

as the surf below grumbles

and thunder-gray gulls

lift away like smoke.

 

D. B. Tompsett

 

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