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

Published in Short Stuff journal, February  2003.

Artwork: from
Music: Goodbye by Emanuela Angelina

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