Beach Bum

 

They call me a bum.

Don’t talk to the dirty bum, honey, he’ll never

leave us alone

 

I wake before the sun, shake the sand out of my blankets

roll them up and tie them to my bike

I stretch my arms to the shivering stars

Breathe in the salty air

Ride to the public sand shower and rinse my face and hands

Heading back to the beach, I stop at the community garden

where tomatoes and peppers are plentiful now

pick a few each, leaving the rest for late risers

I bait a hook with a cricket from the garden

Cast out, sit watching my line bob in the

ancient ocean rhythm