Comment on this
by Martin H. Levinson
A crescent beach, seashells, lapidary waves.
I walk past couples lying on the sand glistening
with oil and good intentions. I turn my head to
catch the breeze and watch fishermen going out
to sea in rickety boats, eating, laughing, drinking beer.
Marching home into the woods a deer bounds across my
path full of health and vigor I no longer possess but
can't help yearning for. I make my way towards an
updated bungalow facing the Pine Barrens where a
family of five wild turkeys moseys across my lawn, a
pair of jays as blue as the sky in spring fly in and out of
the Americana two-hole birdhouse I built last year,
a mailman deposits mail inside my green galvanized steel
post mounted mailbox. Orange and purple irises planted a
month ago finally coming into bloom. The sprinkler goes
round and round. My neighbor across the way brings over
beefsteak tomatoes just harvested from his yard, invites
me by for barbequed hot dogs, burgers, corn, watermelon,
ice cream, homemade apple pie. He asks when I'm
returning to the city. I want to say never, but I don't.