Thursday, January 24, 2008

A man, collapsed in a beach chair,
sleeps. A silver cross,
hanging from his neck, hides
an area, precisely shaped
like itself, of skin on his chest,
that will not be pink
tomorrow. His two toddlers
closer to the water, play
in the sand, while his slender
wife, in a matching chair
a few feet from him, watches.

From the outside ankle
of each chair a chain runs
and attaches itself to the inside
ankle of each of two other,
older and barely visible
children who, dressed up
in their years ago Sunday
best (It must be hot, if a little
transparent) stand and wait.