I’m sorry I can’t write nice things about the beach

a blow up pool

with water and feet in it

is what I remember from that day

and the bits of grass in the pool

and the sun

shining on me in a way

that I took personal

like it was more violent to me than it was

to the girl across the yard

with the knuckle tattoos

too far away for me to read of course

not a single hand shake all year

not a single comment

on the softness of my palms

but the feet underwater

they touch the same