Untitled – plasticbagger

an incredibly small pizza shaped piece of styrofoam lodged in the sand. two kids by the shore dig holes then fill them with liquid from buckets. a small group of dudes headbutt a ball around. laugh and yell shit in another language. the tone of trash talk is universal. their ball a bounce off each of their heads. it must’ve missed eventually. splashing someone who was floating past. how else could their game have ended? 

with a bridge on the horizon. bright blue from the beach. up close probably more grey. i’m not sure what bridge. or think about bridges often. except for when they appear in the background of recent memories. a guy with a sloppy tattoo of jesus on his bicep. wants to walk across the rocky part of the water. on top of sideways swept stones. spiky clams. pinned plastic bags. which test one’s resolve. to get to the sweet spot. where the ocean fully opens up. one’s only anchor back. to the neon swim shorts of society. being the life guard’s. ghostly. whistles. 

water under a bridge seems unsafe to swim in. maybe miles out is harmless enough. a tan cigarette butt on some blistering sand. Now’s really the perfect time. to think about summer. weeks out from that heavy sun. sweaty pits. poison air conditioners. day by day drifting towards a colder breeze. more pockets. getting fatter. Snow, slush. even on that beach. its only company. these next few months. shell fish enthusiasts. roaming at night with light bulbs on their helmets, searching for the remains of a rare breed of creatures. and the polar bear club. who takes freezing dips in the water every winter for no other reason than to live up to their name. then finally. young people. sitting in those tall lifeguard seats. listening to the waves. looking at the moon. passing a joint. talking about stuff. leaving. going elsewhere. dying. engineered salmon. how we’re connected to nature. conversations that seemed endless. the details of which are just now a blur.