Beach Day.

The air bites,

The sand sticks between tired toes,

She wades in, steps through upset rocks,

Sharp and uncomfortable

She wobbles.

Passing rocks she enters weeds

The water touches the hem of her shorts and she rolls them up once

They rub and stick to each other.

The seaweed shuffles from her calves to thighs,

The sand now soft, hugging her feet.

Gentle strokes feel dead, still swimming,

Still decaying,

Soaked in it’s own oil and gunk,

Inside out and over again,

Floating again,

Halfheartedly.