“Down by the ocean, it
was so dismal”
I see her, the fat
woman on a dented turquoise boogie board.
No, I don’t slobber all
over myself with words like “Rubenesque”, that’s demeaning.
Certainly ridiculous in
this scenario.
The gulls sound like
sirens, even with French fries in their beaks.
The woman is just
regular old fat, not “voluptuous” or anything.
Momish, I suppose.
She resists rhythm,
lyricism, completely.
Almost.
Something about her
reminds me of the last contact corona of an eclipse.
She is really getting
pretty far out now.
Purposeful.
This occurs to me too,
dimly.
Does anybody else see
her/care?
Hm.
I consider fetching the
tanned, muscular 20-something off his stilted throne, but don’t.
Maybe she would want me
to?
Oh, wow, she just about
ate it pretty hard there in a swell.
Distant.
What does it sound like
that far out?
I bet we’re making eye
contact right now, she and I.
Pretty sure.
The riptide sometimes
feels like the tug of a willful child.
A disproportionately
strong one.
There is a sense of
wanting.
Is it nice to be
wanted?
Must depend on your
personal situation.
I look around.
My head feels not
unlike that buoy out there.
Usually I would eschew
the double negative.
You know, just say “like”
instead.
This situation demands
a little care.
Funereal?
What will my brother
say when I tell him about this?
Smirking “natural
selection”, but that’s not fair.
It’s wrong, imprecise,
you’d have to see it for yourself.
Oops, there she goes,
slips out of view.
Did she go under, or
just pass the horizon line?
When you hear a song
and there’s a tone that makes you physically roil with sadness.
It’s primal.
Defies description to
the point that I might need adverbs, which I never use.
Beyond the horizon, I
think.
What do you think she’s seeing out there now?
What do you think she’s seeing out there now?