Beach umbrella threatening to rocket launch and give itself to the wind. It wiggles and struggles against it’s new home: A hole in the sand, deep and packed enough to keep it in place. Salty waves crest and crash as a gull cries out and we pan down the coastline to a woman laid out on her towel wearing designer sunglasses. She is sitting up, though her posture reclined, one leg straight, the other bent at the knee, a 45 degree angle. There are children building sandcastles and chasing waves, and in a way they will likely do some version of this their entire lives. Little Critter computer reading games. My old Macintosh. A hunk of nostalgia metal. The boardwalk is behind the beach. Something about the oceanfront being such a soothing simple place, where you can live off of sun, fried foods, and sugar for an entire week. Packing up the car home with towels and trowels. Kids cry in the back seat, not wanting to leave, ever. The sand goes home with them, in between toes and on the carpeting inside the van. Mother has her beach hat on and she is telling them to be good and to chin-up; There may be a McDonalds to be had on the way home. The children smile through their tears and do their best to stop crying. They are passed tissues which they feebly blow into. There is something so lonely about the drive home, but so fulfilling in the knowledge that this vacation was a good one and tonight, we will sleep well.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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