Young, They Wore Bikinis

Young, they wore bikinis: pink and yellow. Hair cupped
hands grasped burned arm pits under paper plate visors.

I wanted to float towards them, to hold the sun
inside my shadow long enough to admire each miscreant freckle.

But the tide knew what I couldn’t, washed me and the dirty foam away.
I couldn’t even push one finger into the hard sand
before my prayers became one word shouts.