Ocean Beach 1976

I remember
the headlines
in racks of
newspapers:
"Tourists caught
in undertow"
and looking 
at the dune
covered highway,
with the marshmallow
pastel houses
staring down
the ocean
as if the 
frowns of
nicotine stained
blinds
and tattered
curtains
could hold 
back the tide.

I remember
the screeches of
the gulls
picking through
the leftovers
of tourist
picnics
and hasty
lunch breaks
with bright sun
casting no
warmth
and wind
stealing my 
voice.

I remember the 
quiet moments
when
walking along
the beach
the bones of
sidewalks
like
toothy smiles
broken
and menacing
were uncovered
by the ever shifting
sands.

I remember
the smell of
aftershave, lucky
strikes,
and bait
while
hardy
immigrants
set their
lines
and stood
like piers
along the edge
of water and sand,
buckets ready
for anything,
set beside 
them.