He comes, a seaside golem,
walking like Frankenstein’s monster
because sand has filled the crack in his
behind, and his feet are shod in at least
two pounds of beach.
He carries his pail and shovel.
“Mommy, I have fun!” he chirps.
And I love him in spite of his sandy behind,
in spite of the leaden feet
and the grit in his hair,
in spite of the fact that I know who’ll be
removing the sand.
I love him because he’s my golem,
and, well, he had fun.
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015