You wanted to go for a swim one day.
You wanted to hit the ocean and so we hit it.
It was low tide and you walked a mile out
Into the bay among the boats with wispy sails.
Lonely, back on the beach, I tried to follow you
Out as far as I could roll my pants up.
When I could wade no further I stood
And watched you search out the deep waters.
You found some up to your waist and dove.
I felt ghost shrimp skirt past my toes and out.
You came back looking like a wet dog
And we laughed at your accomplishment.
As we were trudging back through muck,
I saw a skate being eaten alive by a seagull.
These days, when we chat in passing,
All can see is that poor fated fish.
"What's up," you say. "Not much,"
I reply but you weren't asking a question.
Creative Writing, Spring '07
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