Missing the Beach

Had a small slice of inspiration. Was able to put this together....

Bye June.

The bisecting tracks of small motored trucks sweep and sever lifelines in the sand
as the sun hurries from the street to the sea.
The food is dead cool on the grill,
but our skin is crisp to the bone.
The driftwood will burn,
the stars will sting,
lips will bleed,
and we'll find someone buried at the end of the beach.

It's hard to separate natural stones from ornamental in this kind of night.
They all seem the same when covering a shallow grave.
A plump body still late summer warm, carried in a tarp up to a stranger's lawn.
Kitchen lights the soft wattage of minor things
held us together in one collective breath
before we became sick and all together ruined.

The smell of broken glass, chicken cacciatore,
and spilled olive wine glued to us.
The sound of one deranged voice leaked from eight throats.
I'd never seen such wild, vibrant eyes
as the father slowly stood
with a fork full of sliced carrots keenly balanced in his fingertips,
clearly the last thing he would ever properly control,
and walked out onto his patio.

For some reason I was the only one next to him
when the tarp was rolled back.
The moon flooded white cut open his heart
and as he screamed
I wandered the lawn and felt a sudden joy
recognizing what clearly must have been an ornamental stone.