for Sandy Sheedy
We walk the breakers at the tip of Provincetown,
tide out, crossing to the lighthouse on the far shore,
you briefly topless. Offshore,
whale watchers scan the horizon for blowholes,
a sailboat sways. Later,
we return in water up to our shoulders,
boat shoes held high above my head -
you, in white shorts and t-shirt over black bikini,
hysterical with laughter.
We enter the Moors without a reservation,
bask in the jokes of the piano player,
wade through three or four beers
before being shown to a table
next to a group of young men
who include us in their celebration
of Marilyn Monroe,
as our Portuguese bread and Portuguese soup arrive
under a cloud of steam.
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| The Moors, Provincetown, MA |