1. The Shoreline Scene.

  A. Soft sand,
Strangling and drowning the bones
Of fleeing anachronistic footprints,
Laying to rest its multitudinous population
of a) Broken bottles: the real thing,
   b) Cigarette butts: when only the best will do,
   c) Snotty tissues,
And uncounted collected comforts
Which beautify the scene.

  B. Hard sand,
Separated from above
By a line that juggles damply
Up and down the shoreline,
Resembling in its journey
The psychotic wanderings
Of a petrified, frenzied snail.
The rotting skeleton of the fish:
Unattended within this tidal land,
Rules unfettered in his kingdom.

2. The Conversation.

  A. Me: Waxing ham theatrical,

“Alas, poor Yorick,”
Nor does the fish demur
this famous appellation.

  B. Hamlet: soliloquy unrehearsed,

Rambles royally arm-in-arm
With Uncle Claude and Mum:
“Alas indeed, Horatio.”
But one suspects perchance
He speaks not of the fish.

3. Counterpoint.

Beside us, the river:
Its life rushing out and covering the waves,
Oil roiling slowly,
Thickens silently
Like dark congealing blood.

Alas indeed, Horatio.


                                     April 1975