Revere at 92 Degrees
roaches while in the beachhouse bathroom
someone is fucking someone or having it out
with their violent bowels at 10:30 AM.
If I were a horse I’d be split-hoofed but sedate,
a little out of my field lathered with ocean
spume the dirt of a thousand filled diapers
abandoned to sand or caught in kelp
washed up from Nahant or the Back Bay
or fuck--the Azores? England?
On the road opposite the beach cops stop
a latino kid on a skateboard (I don’t know
why it takes three cars) and send him off
in a different direction. My kids are yank-
ing at my shorts so we hit the beach sand
and broken bottles with the occasional
needle or nip bottle. It’s a grand public
place America’s first public beach.
A horse cop trots along the beach but
the horse leaves a sodden dump in
front of kids who have nothing to
do but play with it while their dark-
skinned mothers scream in three different
tongues to stop. The horse doesn’t seem to care.
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