Missing My Metaphor
her joints,
creaking plank wood,
nails,
shellacked, splintered,
dark
long
hair,
sargasso sickly sweetened
blue crab scuttled,
lips both
brown foam'd,
in
tidal moaning,
her boardwalk secrets
fallen,
on
her beach head,
sand dollars,
insteps
ebb,
sand bars exposed,
while
gulls cry
for clamshells
neap'd,
my bucket
never full,
those swelling
littorals,
leave me
only salt streak'd
in
cold
board shorts,
and
rough glass
foot cuts,
rip current-ed,
again.
Copyright © Andrew Foreman | Year Posted 2014
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