We strolled the boardwalk together
and the moon was near full, the sky
clear, teens in the park by the beach.
Like outcasts, in our 30-something
year old bodies, we side-stepped
between the young ones - flirting
& exchanging numbers, using slang
that we didn't understand anymore.
There had been a beach party earlier:
spread like a virus on facebook with
thousands attending. When we showed,
the crowd was dispersed by police - on
horseback, on bicycles, in cop cars -
it was a spectacle, and I looked over
at the moon - at the dark lake - and
down at our hands held tight while we
slowly navigated past the broken groups.
I was recording video. It's so rare that
we go out these days - on a a date or night
-time walk. My digital camera captured the
crowd and shuffling horses as they shifted
the teens about. Steady sound of bus horn!
The bus. The driver who attempted to stop.
The 17 year old. Thought he had more time.
My camera slanted up to the moon in
the frantic scuffle to move out of the
way of mounted police, horses, their
stomping on the boardwalk. So many
people ran over to the bus, the road.
Walking near the lake the rest of the way
home, we saw couples on benches, loving.
I looked up at the moon. Stood by the
water in the dark. White caps lit the
lake like moonlight. Silence save for
the crashing, oh! the crashing waves.
- adp, 23 August 2010 @ 11:17pm EST
poem: the crashing
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This morning. [12 November 2020 / Toronto, Ontario, Canada]