Yesterday afternoon, near Santa Monica,
My wife and I strolled along a beach
In Hermosa on the Pacific Coast.
She sat in the shade, leaning on a pier.
It was perhaps eroding very slowly
With the oceanic tidal ebb and flow.
We loved the tunnel view of waves
Breaking on the foremost rock or pillar,
Advancing in decelerated tempo to
Closer struts, but letting us taste
Our sandwiches of whole meal wheat
With mayonnaise and sardine paste.
Few were the frisky tots and sunbathers,
Unwisely stretched on the bright strand;
Some youthful figures of whistling pulchritude.
Two boys lay down behind us, Hispanic perhaps,
And slunk away when the life-guard truck
Parked near us, with red flags and
A public address call to bathers to beware.
To the Library for a change of scene and mood.
I bought a Dictionary of Quotations and two thrillers.
The evening lengthened. On to ‘El Something Inca’.
We opted for a dish of broiled chicken and rice,
And brought back half in a doggy-bag for lunch.
Folks, tourist or foreign, keep to the rules of the road,
And stick to lanes on the speed-crazed coastal highway.
‘Jog on, jog on the footpath way’.
That pedestrian snatch of a forgotten song
Came back to me from boyhood, three decades ago.
Thathu, my mother’s father, taught it to me and sister
When we spent a school vacation in a Coonoor cottage,
In ‘Blue Hills’, south India. Here on the Californian coast
Not too late, my new bought dictionary of quotes
Found it in ‘The Winter Tale’ by Shakespeare.
This is my tribute to the Bard, four hundred years
Since he left Avon.
The song bade the trekker go merrily, since a sad heart
Will tire in a mile-O.
‘Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a’.
Leave a Reply