Watching dreams manifest, lifeguards off duty climb their throne. Ascending to the sky, they balance and shift as the photographer settles into position.
Climb. Climb you little brats. My queer thoughts mangle from a viewer’s pose.
You good for nothing, beautiful stuck-up children. Daddy’s money built you into dazzling shape I’m sure.
Let this day stand still as the motion picture film finds its next reel. Hold this moment dear. Grab those anchored souls you call family and widen your lips. Watch the light capture and let out a holler as others synchronize the muddled choir.
I turn towards the ocean and wonder if you remember the way we fought. Like seagulls picking at scraps.
Chuckles overlap as a live demonstration takes place. They peck at a long drowned fish caught in the desert that rests beside its endless home.
The grass is always greener. I cock back in laugher at the rotting remains.
There’s hope in us. I’ll usually think after some time. Sliding through memories, the motion speeds up as a movie unfolds.
We sit, nearly holding our breath. I ask for your hand, and your wink nudges me on. At that moment you warmed my terrified soul and I knew I didn’t need to be alone.
The lifeguards are now running past. Unaware of all but their moment that will never be forgotten. I’m first cruel to their touch. It’s like spikes ripping apart my moment. And why is yours better than mine!
As I fume, I also settle down. Their touch is actually quite warm.
To add to my point, in the photo they will hang on their polished wood walls, or be trashed all the same, they’ll see someone just off to the left. A speck of alien existence, yet present nonetheless, sitting in an observing fashion.
We are connected, I exhale into my lap. By then and now. As well as us and them.
This is a nice piece. I especially enjoy the line you refer to children as seagulls.
Do you lifeguard at the beach?