Pocket Memory MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

Sprawledout across an old rickety nylon chair
with the gentle air brushing my face.The sunburned
sand stings the leathery underside of my foot. Waves
crashdown like falling timber in the forest and the foam
aftermath pastes theoceanfront's floor.

The sweltering sun makes its journey across
the redand orange-painted sky while sea gulls swoop
from the jetty's rockycomposition into the rejuvenating water.
Two little girls wearing matchingsuits are
down by the coast squealing with laughter
as they hurtle wavescoming up the shoreline.

Now, on my flight back into rush-hourtraffic,
people coming and going, horns honking
and vendors sellingtourists the "I Love NY" shirt for 19.95,
I reach into my pocket topay the flight attendant for my drink
and see that little coin which is soforeign from the rest
and all I can do is smile, and store that memory in mypocket.






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Copyright 2006 by Teen Ink, The 21st Century and The Young Authors Foundation, Inc. All rights reserved.
Thispublication may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system ortransmitted in any form or by any means,
without the writtenpermission of the publisher: The Young Authors Foundation, Inc.



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