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 assembly line soliloquy
on the separated treads
clawing like
supportive cats the packed sand

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

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 near east bazaars. lighting a cigarette
with

dramatic green

oh.
throwing colored paper and loudness at irreverent
gulls lining
the poor wood pier
and sea glass 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