Searching For Sea Glass
On the last Thursday before Labor Day
Janey and Sue-Sue sneak down
to Alison’s beach in Harpswell
to slam bottles against the rocks at low tide.
Only tinted vessels will do like blue Zinfandel
and violet Riesling. I always switch to Bombay
for a day just to vary the hue. One time, Cyndy
crashed the party with some veined cobalt china
and Kristin imported a verdant Tanqueray to the smash,
All for the honky-tonk next summer;
the riot on the rocks, when the ardent hunt
for sin-worn shards of blotted treasure resumes,
certainly, enough to coax belief in Pirate skulls
from unwashed seasonal guests.
Bring your own lunch; there will be melon
on carnival trays and blondies from an old umber tin;
and we’ll dip ourselves in noon tides
while our sweet dappled mysteries
drift back in, and we search for them.
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