I walk
under cornflower skies
in late August
shoaling waves
land on shore
and die with a whimper
leaving tendrils of foam
that sail the wet sands
the taste of salt sharp
on my lips.
there’s a boat far out
I feel small,
left behind
as I watch it disappear
over the horizon

Image Credit:Sean Oulashin

Larry is rolling towards geezerhood with a smile on his face. He has been everything from a door to door vacuum cleaner salesman to a restaurant owner. He currently works in real estate. His one true love has always been literature and he is thrilled to be writing

poetry. He hopes you enjoy.