Ocean

No one wanted to give us a ride to the beach 

so we hitched a walk there. It is early June ––

it is hot under the bridge, under our knees, 

even in the crevice of our chins and necks

–– and we are walking to our least favorite 

beach cause it has no surfer side. Rich people

swamp Palm Beach & they don’t let us bring

our boards. We swim cause there’s no UV 

index to tan, the storm rolling in at 30 minutes

from now. The water is cold & it is the time of 

year the seawood starts to rot on the shorelines.

We always carry the stench home. The water 

has the slightest chop so we can surf to the

shore. We are Florida kids enough to do it 

without boards, hands in front, feet kicking, 

knees bent into our gut & then straight out, 

water pouring across our ribcage, tossing

us out when the wave crashes. Here we always

choke on the water, at the crest of the wave,

bile turned sour in the back of our throats as

we walk home in the rain.