Delicatessen and Carnival, the beach
Slopes under to the continental shelf
In sunburn, tights, limp sandwiches, warm beer,
Prowling boys, orange peel, family groups, and lotions,
A yellow bunion on a parchment toe
Dipped in the sea, plunges a million years.
The liquid touch of a fish on Mama’s thighs
Regrets their too much bulge, but the sea will hide it.
Only the prowling boys are near the fish:
Sharpened and taut, they have their nervous form
Beyond the sea, lean with desire and coursing,
Rangy with awkwardness and unfulfillment.
Papa is fatter than the fish and waves
Will love him for. Nelly dreams of going
Down to the tide alone with the prowling boys—poor Nelly,
With all the sea in her breast, and Papa watching.
But Papa had seaweed in his hair—when was it? –
Molly and Nelly and fifty pounds ago,
And Mama ago, and all the sea and a dream ago,
Deep in the mackerel shine of the seaweed caves.
Now picnic lunch and one cigar and an eye
Kept over from napping to watch with for the signs
Of wandering, tide-turn, sun-burn, sudden squalls,
Fire, theft, collision, death, and depreciation.
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