splash, swish, whistle: wind. waves brave
the top of the break wall, sloshing and frothing
like prisoners pushing desperately on
painted iron bars;
we stand stably, a seldom occurrence,
clad in swimsuits covered in what
Mom calls “fuzzies” from pools and
cement floors,
we carry our foam kickboards
like they mean something: like they're
the weapon
standing between life & death –

(we push forward)
deliberately, brother & sister, descending
the wooden steps
carefully, unwanting of splinters that
eagerly await our feet like land mines;
(we push forward)
through the scorched grass of the side yard,
together, step in step: right, left, right left,
slightly jumping as the grass nips at our toes
and finally reaching the end of the road –
a “beach” made of five bags
of white Home Depot sand,
our Normandy;
(we push forward)
into the water, greeted by the smell seaweed
freshly washed ashore,
and the water leaping,
shin-waist-shin-waist,
waist-shoulder-waist-shoulder,
then over our heads …

we bobbingly float alert and at the ready
in water made murky by a sandstorm
of nautical turbulence. like a sergeant
marching a faithful comrade to battle,
brother yells,
“one – two –
three –
JUMP!”
barraged by the water,
i soar from the air, over, under, forwards, backwards;
waves take control and tumble us until we
regain stability.
breaking the surface of the white,
foaming water,
i spot my deputy floating to my right,
salute him with a smile, and we attack
with success again and again:
we always become stable …