Your Grandparents at the Beach

September 23rd, 2006

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With a sorry lapse in grace she laughs

And wears the same face as when she is crying

It changes colors with the seasons

And she has no spare

With which to exchange it

She would buy one if she wasn’t so damn scared

From the boy by the mailbox selling

Tapioca pudding, rum and hash

Along with anarchy and namesakes

All from inside his trenchcoat and his blue top hat

She passes him so frequently

As she comes from town.

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Her only saving grace, she loves

A boy who from his future he is running

She leaps and falls into his arms

He’s acquainted with her flaws and fears

And sees them

But loves her too in spite

Of her sorry lack of sins

And her plethora of preferences

And the traces indecision makes

Upon her only face.