Cape May Lighthouse is a stage
set high so that I can see
across the bay into the clouds
it rests above the ocean
wind-lashed and enduring

I drive over that ancient
Ocean Drive bridge built
when FDR rebuilt a nation
the railings cracked
and rusted out like the chains
that bind the ships to their
posts in the bay like telephone
poles rising from a sunken city

The car-door slams closed
under the red sun which sets
and its glare forecasts
a storm but I make it inside Nemo’s
Pizza just as the summer rain
starts in fat drops and I
sit down to enjoy a personal
pizza—white with spinach and anchovies
nice and salty.