Old Friends

by Roman Pougatchev

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