Sifting the sands, alongside
fellow townspersons, one comber
combing on his knees, wiped his head
with his hand and had let his mind
slide into its comfy quandary
of making sense of local history.
As in, when did they lose
the love of lounging on the shore?
Were there not photos entombed
in tattered albums depicting Leisure’s
unencumbered happy immodesty?
and faces of all sexes
beaming a brand of mirth immune
to age’s convention?
Luxury chose to bless neighbor towns
whose softer founders set them up where
wild violets were not nuisances.
Here they were happy to make do
and if a man had a boat for fishing
it was because of a passion
for fishing or a ramble on the sea