I climbed up to the attic to find ‘scopes.
Two red and blue, they faced the beach outside.
Telescope of blue had given me hopes,
Its broken lenses had too much to hide.

Telescope of red had given distress,
Its bent lenses had shown me far too much.
The truth? The lies? Was the beach just a mess?
Or was it safe? Was I just out of touch?

My mother came for my frustrated cries.
I asked her what she thought of all of it.
She spoke, “Don’t use the ‘scopes, but use your eyes.”
“See the beach for what it is. Use your wit.”

I saw the beach, the world, for what it was,
Not good, not bad, but still alive, abuzz.