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

in one, angled look

the drama of insecurity

itself-reflected eyes

shame, a sea of doubt

swirling winds

in a moment of despair

I’ve seen that hurt look before

in a woman’s tears.

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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.

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