Summer dreams are fluid,
Willowy clouds I wish upon
When the porch of my Appalachia
Is mosquito-clouded and rained out.
I long for the scent of ocean water,
Sandy terrain of beach and dunes
That lean toward the open arms of the sea,
Palm trees breaking the seal
Of an unsaid invitation.
I’d trade these itchy fields
Of dandelion and honeysuckle
For the paved maze of a sea-side village,
Perhaps the long strip of Gulf Shores
Or the shaded rocks of Half Moon Bay,
An early-morning walk against
The birdcall of seagulls and pelicans,
Jovial smile of the seamen,
Sturdy in their tanned shoulders
And straw hats as they propel
Huge nets and fishing reels
Into the dark blue, open deep.
I’d waste countless days
With my feet buried in the sand,
Eye on the wave, book on my knees,
Cabana-style umbrella waving
Against the burn of a broad sun.
I’d chase my stiff drinks with diet coke,
Straight from 32 into middle-age.
Dine at the finest restaurants,
Home-fried fish, live music,
Someone romantic to share my table,
Dark eyed in a private corner.
I’d launch my heart into
The mortared water of some
Swanky fisherman’s villageAnd anchor away.