writing

Nightlife

A short story by Steve Kittell

Chapter I
Good Morning

“Good morning Bailey, Maine. It’s 6:oo AM, as always, and I’m Chicken Little with your morning wake up call from WWDZ, the Woodz in the woods. Big news today here in 960 FM land and all of the northern quarter of these good ole United States and of course all of southern Canada. Yes folks today, Saturday, as of midnight actually, started our worlds’ new journey, our journey into the darkness. Yep, it’s what’s being called Nightlife, and we all have to shift our lives 180 degrees. Day is night, night is day. And I, for one, although I’m sure most, are confused, scared and probably, at least a little, pissed off. What the hell is going on? I know we should have been prepared, its already happened in the rest of the country, but it’s different here in northern Maine. We’re different, we’re tougher and more independent and now we got the government telling us day is night and night is day and the sun is bad, blah, blah, blah. The sun’s gonna git cha! Yep, simple as that, no more sunshine for us.”
In a dimly lit trailer used as the news radio station, Steve, known as Chicken Little to his listeners, sits back and exhales loudly, frustrated and frightened by his mornings’ open. He pauses for another second before leaning back into the microphone to continue.
“Unfortunately friends, the alternitive is death, death by slow incineration. We even have an official name for it now; Airfrilation”, yep airfrilation, as defined by some governmental overlord as the “sudden mutation and expansion of blood cells caused by excessive solar radiation resulting in the, non-repairable, fusing of cappilaries. Which will, over time cause the heart to overheat and burst. Burst! Bursting freakin hearts, that’s what it says, bursting hearts, Boom! And then, wait for it, potentially igniting the surrounding body fat resulting in almost total incineration. Airfrilation people, airfrillation we’re probabally going to hear that a lot. Buckle up.”
“On a more positive note; the dome is almost finished over the high school playing field and our state champs girls softball team can get back to paractice for next season soon, congrats again ladies. Buck’s on Main is having a buy one get one free sale on all summer gear. Good luck Buck. Frieda’s not feeling well today, so she’s closed til further notice, sorry everyone you’ll have to make your own breakfast for a while. Feel better Frieda, love ya. Sunrise today at 6:16, safe sun time from sunrise to 7 o’clock is about 3 1/2 minutes, 7 to 8 is 1 1/2, 8 to 9 is less than one 1 minute and from 9 am until 5 pm is zero minutes, zero minutes people, no sun, window shades down, reverse and repeat. Life as we know it gets turned off. But we’re alive now and the sun’s beginning to rise, the orange and purples are amazing this morning, a little hazy now, but that will burn off shortly and we’re in for a bright sunny, clear day, that we won’t see. Highs in the low to mid 80’s, a bit warm for early March, whew. With that, it’s time for a little music, perhaps ironic, but lets give old George a whirl. Ladies and gentlemen here comes the sun.”
Steve pops in the cart, presses play and sits back to light yet another bootleg cigarette while peaking through the blinds to see the last of the today’s sunrise. The realization of this new time was, finally sinking in with Steve, it all started about four months ago in the southern quarter and he’s regulary reported on the many, many deaths since. But that all seemed very far away from Bailey, where there had been a few minor cases of airfrilation, before it had yet been named, so folks thought it was a heat rash or something with little red bumps that tingle and burn. Pulled from his thoughts by a loud buzz on his phone, Steve shuffles through his stacks of notes strewn over the console knocking the phone to the floor. Leaning over to reach it the chair tipped over and Steve hit the floor fast and hard, taking with him the old turntable, lots of paper and his extra large, steaming hot, morning coffee. After a few moments of screaming and swearing, Steve grabbed his phone, and sat to read the recent text from their sister station in Slocum. He began to weep, realizing his responsabilty to the community he regained his composure, somewhat, and returned to his microphone.
“6:28 Folks and no, it’s not alright George, not anymore, anyway. Word just in from our brothers and sisters down in Slocum, one confirmed death yesterday and maybe another. Unfortunetly they have to wait for the house fire to go out before they can investigate. Damn! That just rocked my world, I’m shaking, damn, damn, damn! I hate being the bearer of bad news folks, but this is only the begining, I’m sure.”

Chapter II
Wake Up

Steve steps back from the mic to calm himself before he totally lost it. Three deep breathes, the trick he was taught in prison to release tension. Soon after his breathing exercise Steve was able to regain his composure and get back to the microphone.
“Sorry everyone, lost my cool there for a second. Lots going on this morning, I’ve got to a broken turntable on the floor with a bunch of useless wet notes and a really big, empty cup of my morning elixer, that is now soaking my favorite pair of jeans. None of which is all that important, certainly not compared to what’s happining to our good friends down in Slocum, our thoughts and prayers are with you. Gonna spin another record now so I can clean up my mess and then get to the phones. Nine nine six, twenty two hundred folks, I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if anyone happens to be passing by with a nice, big, fresh cup of Joe you will be genoursly rewarded, thanks in advance. Three dog nights’ may now be a thing of the past but Shambala will always be in our hearts and minds.”
Steve loads the cart, forgetting to hit play and heads to the bathroom to clean up. He closes the door and takes his coffee soaked pants off to rinse in the sink. Scensing what should have been the end of the song Steve hastely hangs his wet pants over the then towel bar to dry and rushes back, pantsless, to the console only to find there was no song and all the phone lines were flashing.
“I’m back, sorry for the dead air, I’m trying to clean up a little.”
Ignoring the phones, Steve hit play, lit another cigarette and started cleaning up the wet mess all over the new carpeted floor in the newly bought studio. The old studio became far too valuable to rent to a mom and pop radio station, albeit an historical institution in Bailey. The station, first in town, sat high atop the Fin and Feather Grand Lodge, a five-story brick, granite, iron and glass eyesore that completely cluttered the vistas of the surrounding one and two-story buildings that fill Main street’s half mile. Built in 1885 by a wealthy and bombastic gentleman sportsman from Boston. The young heir intended it to be a sporting playground with year round hunting and fishing as well as numerous seasonal activities for the the hunters families. The lodge was complete with a gourmet resturant, spa, several shops and a iron and glass pool pavilion with a waterfall. The nearby carraige house and equastrian center was to be the grandest in all of Maine, though never finished. It’s ruins still clutter that part of town and now used as a homeless camp. The Lodge itself saw many changes and uses over its long and troublesome life. Now, however, it was being returned to its former glory by yet another bombbast from Boston, this time for luxury doooms-day condos.
Life was forever changed in that little town of Bailey and everyone knew it was just a matter of time before their first casualty. The southern quarter of the country had already lost almost half of its population, many headed north, but most didn’t heed the warnings in time. The remaining have adapted to the nightlife, with those who have to be out during the day now, absolutely having to wear a sun suit. A new sun suit factory was planned for Hestor, about twenty miles south east of Bailey, hopefully operational before the dreaded summer.
Sun suit manufacture was now at war-time capacity and a whole new economy was taking shape with the almost total collapse of some industries and the invention and growth of others. Unfortunetly the new profits were going back to the shareholders who caused the problems to begin with.
Bailey, too had seen drastic changes recently caused by airfilation, most noticeable being the fifteen – twenty percent population growth from all the terrified victims escaping the south and with more expected. Real estate prices were soaring, the cost of everything was skyrocketing. Main street vacancies were nonexistent, filled by new real estate and law offices. What once were tiny summer cottage rentals were now selling at well into the millions and the luxury lake houses were now causing bidding frenzies. This, of course, was easy money for those looking for the quick buck, legaly and otherwise. Stolen guns and four-wheel drive trucks were by far the most profitable and biggest problem for law enforcement. Illeagle drugs where getting scarce and very expencive, causing the addicts into more and more brazzen criminal acts. The legal marijauana dispenencery where too seeing increased break-ins and theft attemps in addition to being overwelmed with all the new customers, predictably increasing prices .

Chapter III
Good Bye

Scrambling back to the console and quickly changing up songs before getting back to the mess he made and continued to ignore the phones and the mic. Back on the floor, still in damp underwear with knees held to his chest, Steve was overwhelmed with the urge to drink, his old escape from reality. It’s been neerly a decade since Steve’s last drink, which ultimately put him in jail for twenty six long months. The silence was eventually broken by a loud and forceful bang on the door. “You OK in there Steve” yelled Sargent Bouchard of the local police force. Hearing no responce the sargent yelled in his deep ominous voice “Open this door now or I will.”
Snapping out of his funk by flashbacks of the police. Screaming, Steve franticlly jumped to his feet “It’s cool Frank, I’m good, I’m good.”, lunging for the door Steve slipped on the wet paper and fell back to the floor, spraining his wrist on impact. “Shit, damn, damn!, Steve breathed in deeply, “It’s alright Frank, I slipped.” Steve scootted over to the door and pulled himself up with the chintzy door handle before unlocking it. However, while Steve pushed, the three hundred pound Sargent Bouchard was also pulling on the door handle. The flimsy door flew open, taking first Steve and then the Sargent, down the make-shift stairs crashing onto the gravel driveway. Steve was saved from any major injury landing on the sargent. The sargnet was not as fortuneate, landing on his back and slamming the back of head on the gravel, knocking him out cold.
Rolling off of the sargent, Steve laid on his back, enjoying the mornings warmth. Close to a minute passed before Steve realized Frank still hadn’t move. Turning his head Steve could see blood dripping from Frank’s sun suit hood. Steve screamed in horror before reaching over to shake his friend. “Frank, you OK Frank, Frank wake up!” Steve jumped to his feet, yelling “Help” over and over again, as loudly as he could before realizing everyone was indoors, avoiding the sun. Being closer to the patrol car than the trailer Steve lunged for the car and opened the drivers door. Suprised by the surge of cood, refresing air, Steve hesitaded for a second then jumped in, grabbed the radio mic, pressed the button and yelled, “Hello anyone, Frank’s down, Sargent Bouchard I mean. He’s out cold and bleeding, hurry, we’re at the radio station, hurry! Throwing down the mic Steve hurried from the car and back to Frank, who was still out.
Sitting next to Frank, Steve noticed a tingling sensation in his hands soon followed by a silmilar sensation in his arms and legs. Finally remembering his morning’s opening monolouge and the symptons of Airfrilation Steve gave Frank one last push before retreating to the shade. Working hard to get off of the ground Steve managed only one step before his legs gave out. Back on gravel Steve tried to drag himself to the trailer, a few feet where gained with great pain and effort.
In the distance a siren could be heard, music to Steve’s ears, soon we’ll be safe he thought. When the ambulance did finally arrive Sargent Bouchard was tended to immediately, later to be treated and sent home. The town firetruck arrived shortly after the ambulance and Bailey now had its first casualty.

The End

The Declaration of No Hindrance

This holiday has begun;
later on we’ll have some fun.
The ice is broken, the heat’s returned.
Now the fireworks we’ve long yearned.
~
A sunset shared on the beach,
loving arms now in reach.
Colors burst in the skies,
starlight sparkles in your eyes.
~
Booms and bangs heard all around.
Lips will meet without a sound.
The future’s now, we’re on our way,
happy Independence Day.

~*~
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In a Flash

The wait is long, the reward sublime.
In search I am for the perfect time.
My heart is beating and lungs are full.
My mind is racing, I feel the pull.
~
I’m tired but wired, I can’t sleep a wink.
I think I’m unsure of whatever I think.
Thoughts of the past reflect on the now.
Tomorrow’s soon and the why, what and how.
~
I sat and I pondered; what am I to do?
A question confounded by where, when and who.
Then in an instant the answer was clear.
A fool am I, the time now is here.

~*~
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A Village Uncommon

~*~

Birds are first to welcome the day.
Second’s the stable boy, warm in his hay,
next the rooster with a cockle-doodle–do.
The sun then knows it’s time to shine through.

The day’s now begun on this little village farm,
sounds are awakened, no need for alarm.
Chores are done first before breakfast’s had.
The boy gets scraps for which he’s glad.

He then fetches water to fill troughs high,
looking down he reflects on the sky.
The birds passing by all wave hello.
The boy too would like somewhere to go.

His only companions where pigs in the barn,
a colt in the stall and a blanket of yarn.
The pigs are noisy but warm at night.
The colt’s always worried something’s not right.

The boy and the colt are both small for their age.
The colt’s awkward stance was more prone for a stage.
The boy’s body covered in hair but none on his head.
His face more pale than a ghost long dead.

He was missing teeth, what’s left are brown.
When out to run errands he’d limp back from town.
He was bullied by piers, pitied by the rest,
that’s why the barn is where he liked best.

The barn’s on a farm the boy’s aunt owned.
The pigs are theirs but the rest boarded or loaned.
The crops all prospered by the boy’s hard work,
though all profits were spent on his cousin the jerk.

The jerk had a sister the boy thought faire,
as did all the mirrors where she did stare.
The boy’s aunt was mean and her husband’s a brute.
They all wore frowns but the dog was cute.

On the boy’s return to the barn for the night,
he was much surprised by a most curious sight.
Pigs were in a circle the colt standing tall.
The hens in the middle said nothing at all.

The lonely stable boy was their only concern.
So a plan was hatched for the love he earned.
The colt too had thoughts in his growing mind.
There’s something, somewhere he needs to find.

Then suddenly a change right before their eyes.
Within the hour the colt doubled in size.
The bumps on his shoulders grew larger too
As did his hooves, now too big for their shoe.

The discussion’s now over and all agreed.
The boy and the colt should both be freed.
Some details whispered and the time was set,
for a barnyard adventure to never forget.

The boy donned his blanket like superman’s cape,
then mounted the colt for their great escape.
First are hugs all around before they depart.
Then the barn doors cracked for the plan to start.

The hens muffled the rooster so time was bought.
The sheep flocked to the door as they were taught.
The ducks then quacked to cause a commotion.
And the brute awakened without a clue or a notion.

Pigs started oinking and the cows crashed the gate.
The little dog barked but it was too late.
The boy and colt ran fast past the posts,
waving goodbye to their ungracious hosts.

A tear was shed for the friends left behind.
But his blanket’s aroma would always remind.
The pair dashed down the lane by the hedge-row.
Then flew over the hills where the uncommon go.

In search of a world thought fantasy.
A place imagined by you and me.
A place where all’s different and the same,
where none is wrong or to blame.

This place called fantasy’s not make-believe.
It’s a place that’s real we feel and perceive.
As the pair now see how much they’ve grown.
They come into view of a sight unknown.

Not commonly known this uncommon sight,
there welcomed warmly in the setting sunlight.
The Uncommons filled their common and a party had.
There all are different and all are glad.

A one-legged sprinter hopped by to say hi,
as did the unicorn and an eagle with one eye.
A lady strolled over who walked on her hands.
Her arms so long they dragged in the sands.

Her daughter followed and sparks then flew.
The boy didn’t know that there could be two.
His Pegasus introduced with shakes all around.
Their hands all touching made a warm clapping sound.

Hugs soon followed and a tasty dinner had.
The boy almost forgot he was ever sad.
He cuddled a tiny kitten that roars really loud.
And played with two-legged puppies that only bowed.

There are two-headed snakes and a toothless beaver,
also the tail-less mouse from his aunt’s cleaver.
Here everyone’s loved and their love they share,
who wouldn’t love a giant dancing bear.

These commons are full of Uncommons galore.
Though anyone’s welcome, there’s room for more.
The boy’s party ran late and he rose with the sun.
Then all’s back to normal in a village uncommon.

~*~

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Picture’s Read

~
Life creates the lines we wear.
They’re traced upon the face we share.
Smiles turned up spread everyday joy.
Pouty faces think hearts a toy.
~
Lips arced down build no bridges.
Crinkled brows scaled ridges.
Eyes bright glow through the night,
eyes down dwelt shade their light.
~
Enthusiasm shines with a spark.
Heartache shines in the dark.
Time wrinkles the more we press.
Smooth is felt, not a guess.
~
Directions clear when maps unfold.
Routes we’ve drawn, our story told.
Hellos leave more to see.
Loves image is good bye free.
~
I wish for the lines of long ago.
I wish to watch that of another grow.
A fateful glance we’re sure to know,
little things make the big picture show.

~*~
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Egg Waits

Awaiting a shells fateful date,
eggs alone beat in wait.
When a pair scrambles to meet,
futures fertile swim to greet.
~
Pairs joined to each a share,
new is made over easy with care.
Hatched a recipe for pure delight,
sliding from heat, home plate’s in sight.
~
Yet time fragile, forking’s no joke,
bad luck befallen bound by yoke.
Getting fried never rehearsed.
And the wait answers which came first.

~*~
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Believe It Why Not

I have a plan to save mankind.
I’ve just a few things left to find.
First is a place we all can hide.
It’ll need big windows to feel outside.
~
Next is food, but we can’t be too picky,
just nothing too spicy, gooey or sticky.
There’s coffee, for sure with sugar and cream,
then a really big bed for all to dream.
~
We’ll need some music so bring guitars.
Smoking’s optional but no cigars.
There’s no heavy drinking or hard drugs.
No need for violence or unruly thugs.
~
There will be no jail or a court.
So bring no weapons of any sort.
We’ll all need to promise to get along.
It sounds pretty easy, what can go wrong.
~
You’ll never find a happier place.
It’ll fill up fast so reserve your space.
Now one last thing before I take leave;
it’s best not come if you can’t believe.

~*~
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Why?

Hogarth_fighting2

We work by day and dream at night.
In between we live and fight.
We fight for peace and for love.
We fight to live, we push and shove.

Sometimes we give, sometime we break.
We sometime take more than we make.
We fight for much and for less.
We fight for time to fight off stress.

We’ve fought for us and for them.
We fought for merit and to condemn.
We fight the ills that lurk within.
We fight our demons so we may win.

Yet battles won are never done.
And battles lost are never one.
But still we fight until at last we die.
We’ll fight for breath to at last ask why.

~*~
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Aught

Days pass without a thought.
Life flows, words are naught.
Fantasy’s forged, reality wrought.
Patience builds, time has taught.
~
The future is the past brought.
The present is where caught.
Work consumes, hurdle fraught.
Solace earned, never bought.
~
Joy is when not distraught.
Dreams fought, wishes besought.
Love defined by what is sought.
Success is, as it ought.

~*~
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Pondering Perfection

I lay awake throughout the night,
ponder do I of what to write.
The morning comes and again I rise.
The page sits blank before my eyes.
~
My head’s foggy the skies clear,
air’s cool and autumn’s near.
My love slumbers, her heat I feel.
My heart warms to what’s now real.
~
A morning ritual loved so much;
I kiss her forehead with a gentle touch.
Hours to pass for her to rise,
a poem awaits her sleepy eyes.
~
Smiles and kisses we then share.
Our need for each other we’re much aware.
My mind now settled and troubles cease.
Another day’s begun with love, joy and peace.

~*~
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Sum Day

I’m starting my day in a positive way.
Good morning to all is what I say.
If it’s not morning have a good night.
Your time will come to see the light.
~
Life will be both happy and sad.
When it’s not bad you should be glad.
And when it’s good share your bliss.
If you’ve a partner, share a kiss.
~
Share your joy with one and all;
acts of kindness are never small.
A simple smile will brighten a day.
A simple good morning will have its sway.
~
Awake is a plus, the future starts there.
Dwell on the positives and subtract despair.
Time keeps ticking and forward we go.
Don’t be conned, think like a pro.

~*~
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Changing Changes

Change is in the air,
it’s felt on the breeze.
The clock quickly ticking,
the wind-up’s been a tease.
~
The future is before us,
experiences behind.
Knowledge fills our heads,
yet we’re truly blind.
~
We’ve hopes for better days,
dreaming of peace and love.
While fearing the unknown,
we seek to rise above.
~
Yesterday’s now gone,
premonition’s premature.
Tomorrows manifest,
yet only now’s for sure.
~
Consistency comforts,
surprises feel strange.
Seconds are our choices,
yet only time will change

~*~
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Tic, Tic, Tic…

When values are charismatic
and thought becomes plutocratic,
participation is devoid.
Then hardship is systematic.
~
When this world seems dramatic
and our head’s full of static,
anger’s then employed.
And hate becomes pragmatic.
~
When life, it seems erratic
and joy becomes sporadic,
worry fills the void.
Then the gloom is traumatic.
~
When time itself is problematic
and the future’s enigmatic,
trust is then destroyed.
And solitude becomes symptomatic.
~
But when we are diplomatic
and compassion’s automatic,
violence we avoid.
Then love is democratic.

~*~
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Bountiful Blossoms Blooming

Where bumble bees sing to morning blooms,
sunshine fills sleepy rooms.
Little birds chirp to ring in the day.
The town folk thrive and children play.
~
Evening’s all spent cozy and warm;
everyone huddles at word of a storm.
With a common goal of tranquility,
their smiles all share the harmony.
~
Freedom reigns and peace assured,
caring for all, we’re all adored.
And though this place is yet to be found,
in dreams we meet when feet leave the ground.

~*~
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Skipper’s Lane

Around the bend from the church on main,
lies a quaint little street, called Skipper’s Lane.
T’was on this path a young lad dwelled,
before the streets’ name or the lad propelled.
~
The tale goes: At the head of a cove the sandbar’s long.
The water’s choppy and the currents strong.
A young lad fished, he netted all day.
At sunset he rowed to the town up the bay.
~
He traded his catch for supplies and some cash.
He then rowed back home and buried his stash.
Years soon passed and the lad’s now a man.
The time was now to dig up an old can.
~
The cans held his savings, he’s more than a few.
The man, now called Netty, had something to do.
Netty rowed into town, to buy but not sell.
He bought a new boat with a bright shiny bell.
~
He towed the boat home not knowing how to sail.
A year’s practice behind then caught in a gale.
Netty stayed calm, his life, spent afloat.
Home was in sight when he saw a tossed boat.
~
The boat missed the inlet, now blowing out to sea.
Though Netty unsure, he could not leave them be.
Adjusting his sails Netty raced to give aid.
Soaked and battered he would not be afraid.
~
Lost memories filled young Netty’s head.
Recalling the night, he was almost dead.
The sky was black and the water cold.
The ship sat heavy, filled with gold.
~
Remembering screams and cracking wood,
the ship’s bell rang, gone childhood.
The boy hit the water and woke on the shore.
The life he once knew was no more.
~
A crashing wave broke Netty’s trance,
one second more he’d lose his chance.
He leaned on his tiller to bring his boat near.
The boats colliding mustered everyone’s fear.
~
Netty thought quickly and dropped his sheet,
then heaved his net around a cleat.
He pulled and pulled with all his might.
His biggest catch was that stormy night.
~
All returned safely before the sun rose.
Netty now a hero was gifted new clothes.
New friends were made, now one’s Netty’s wife.
Recounting his memories he bought a new life.
~
The gold recovered, Netty bought lots of land.
He built a grand home well away from the sand.
The harbor in view he watches over his fleet.
The town, now prosperous, gave Netty a street.

~*~
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Beach Day

SK_BeachDay_4

Tomorrow’s to be the best day.

A day of sunshine, swim and play.

Must get to sleep, morning is near.

We’ll wake early, much to prepare.

*

Eat breakfast, find my pail and rake.

Great big castles of sand we’ll make.

Pack cooler with lunch, bring a hat.

Bags for towels and this and that.

~

Morning has come, wide open eyes.

Hoping for those clear blue skies.

It must be early, sky’s still gray.

Maybe I woke on the wrong day.

*

Waited all winter, now’s in reach,

sunny day of fun at the beach.

Went back to bed, nothing to do.

Closed my eyes then the sun shined through.

~

Jumped out of bed, day’s second chance.

Brush my teeth and put on short pants.

Ran downstairs for breakfast and more,

a surprise friend waits at my door.

*

We all got packed into the car.

Hoping the drive won’t be too far.

Wheels turn, were almost there.

Windows open, I smell the sea air.

~

Pull in the lot, our fun begins.

Unpack the car, pull out the bins.

We carry the bags, two for each.

Umbrellas up, blanket on beach.

*

Cooler wheels stuck in the sand.

Dad asked me to lend him a hand.

We’re all set up, time to explore.

There’s much to do at the seashore.

~

We hurry down to take our dips.

First toes then knees, up to hips.

The water’s cold, we jumped back out.

To thick towels we run and shout.

*

My fingers wrinkle, lips turn blue.

The sunshine’s warming me and you.

Sand’s sticking to my wet swimsuit.

Mom gets lunch; sandwich, drink and fruit.

~

Our feast is done, time to play ball.

Huffing and puffing, shared by all.

We blew it up then threw it high.

Caught by the wind, kept by the sky.

*

Grab our shovels, pile the sand.

Moats and towers, kings of this land.

Then waves came in with a crash.

Hours to build, gone in a splash.

SK_BeachDay_6

Now we’ll find some big new sea shells.

Some are flat some shaped like bells.

Some you hear the sea in your ear.

Some will have things living in there.

~

Sifting for treasure in the sands.

Time slipping through our small wet hands.

We keep the best in a small sack.

To be explored when we get back.

*

Now let’s try the water again.

First you go then I’ll jump right in.

Dive and swim, watch seaweed float by.

Then the sun sank low in the sky.

~

We all go home, skin pink, eyes red.

Take a cool bath then off to bed.

Going to sleep dreaming of more,

a day at the beach is best – I’ m sure!

*

The End

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