When the moon lifts
the sea, the umbrellas fold,
the chairs are stacked,
the lifeguard perch — abandoned.
Gulls pick the remains —
leaving sandpipers
to rush the tide
and retreat.
Image: Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash
Poetry by Devon Brock
When the moon lifts
the sea, the umbrellas fold,
the chairs are stacked,
the lifeguard perch — abandoned.
Gulls pick the remains —
leaving sandpipers
to rush the tide
and retreat.
Image: Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash
