Wet sand castles with muddy moats
seagulls picking chips from vinegary paper funnels

Sea glass and broken shells edge the silvery driftwood
piles of seaweed cautioning the smell of rotting carcasses

A girl from the cottage next door
tan and blonde
I'd buy her an ice cream
or, on a Saturday night, cotton candy

Late, bagpipes fill the cooling breeze
making the sunset ache
as they call the end of something

running home