Crash

Some days the wind
swore so badly at West Beach,
black lava sand invaded burgers 
half-cooked on the grill, 
chased hats,
sent surfers sprawling.

Our courtship trailed
the spume coated waves--
high flying and frantic,
but splattering too soon
onto unyielding sand,
my hat rolling away
and our burgers still waiting,
raw in the middle.

Pris Campbell
©2003

Published in Short Stuff journal, February  2003.

Artwork: from Allposter.com
Music: Goodbye by Emanuela Angelina

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