At the Seashore
I'm home again, safe,
But stepping off the plane, onto the jet bridge,
I can safely say I'm not all that happy.
The unheated corridor is a shock to my being.
St. Louis is Nome, this December 1.
I'm frozen to my insensate senses.
Yesterday afternoon, in only walking shorts,
On Hollywood Beach's 83-degree sands,
I relaxed under the sun's hide-and-seek rays.
My fleece jacket feels thinner than tissue paper.
Linda, at the seashore, by now, beckons me.
My eyes tear up. I tell myself it's just the cold.
12/01/10 - (3)
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