A day at the beach
we have been here before;
I am trying to be
Burt Lancaster
as you hesitate to play
Deborah Kerr with
self-conscious protestations
I have heard many times
But today the kids are
not with us, the friends who
we accompany sit engrossed
in their sun-worshipping,
paperbacks, inflatable-floating
oblivious to us and not
burning with our middle-aged
or any other sort of passion
my long smoldering fantasy
plays a recurring loop in
my mind’s eye always,
not oddly, in pristine
black-and-white
admittedly I have never had
Burt’s shoulders, jaw line,
hair, stature
I have tried vainly to
master his presence,
make it my own, yet
sadly cannot stand
and drip water on you
with marquee panache
you lay on your towel
my attempts to entice you
to join me once, just one
time, in a sandy embrace
while the gentle surf
plops meekly upon the shore
are warily deflected
It then occurs to me your
reticence might be overcome
by bigger, bolder surf
or more unique idea
but I am what I am
as I sit on the warm sand
I wonder if crashing waves
really would set your heart
pounding or if I should
just let the tide go out
– Mark Lucker
Ponderable polemics, poetic 