Father At The Ocean

mother's charm is standing alongside
"the beach looks lovely in midwinter"
and father brought us in the large
white truck
after airing out the dangerous tires and
giving an impromptu
physics assemblyline soliloquy
on the separated treads
clawing like
supportive cats the packed sand

and thinking of Einstein's simplicity. if we could
not fall thru'
every single crevice presented
opened and God's gifted then we
would end up in the very same place
that we have do not

"handle it softly"

is the measure of dialogue. or
the lemon-olive twist
of dialogue. or
father's wine glass bearing
odd city names
spilling along the
saccharine buckskin
little fingerprints
of summering in the Crimea
or drinking
oil from neareast bazaars. lighting a cigarette

dramatic green

throwing colored paper and loudness at irreverent gulls lining
the poor wood pier
and seaglass only becomes pretty after
barricading itself from pinpointed eagle sands driven
by the motioning of seismic waters;
a tumbler for precious stones

and father
gave away
the white
truck for
a horse but
the horse
would not
heed him;

so we are here. and the wine has fermented enough mother uses it for vinegar when she is cooking Italian dishes

rarely as
it is