Oh, how the sand grits
between my pinkened toes
as I stroll along the breezy shore.
The smell of rotting fish carcasses
engulfs the gulf where I take a sip
from the Mai Tai in my weathered hands.
Over there, a seagull picks a crab
out of the sand with the precision
of a sniper in the deserts of Iraq.
My glossed-over eyes shift towards
waves battering the shore, rejecting
the beer bottles left behind by kids.
There’s a boat off into the horizon
dredge fishing away all life
on the fertile sea bottom.
I’m told the sun is setting now,
but all I can see in the sky is darkness
saturated with ominous clouds.
If I had it my way, I would never leave
this wasteland of tourists and hooligans,
but I can only bring so much booze.
Do you remember
baking Christmas cookies with your mom
painting faces on the little gingerbread children
with sugary white icing?
Pepperidge Farm remembers.
Do you remember
waking up early on Saturday morning
turning on the TV to your favorite cartoons
and eating Cap’n Crunch?
Pepperidge Farm remembers.
Do you remember
crying yourself to sleep at night
worrying that your same-sex attractions
will make you an outcast?
Pepperidge Farm remembers.
Do you remember
the look on your ex-boyfriend’s face
when you fed him the line
It’s not you, it’s me?
Pepperidge Farm remembers.
Do you remember
the day you realized
that even though times were tough
things were gonna get better?
Pepperidge Farm remembers.
