Peter Jay Shippy
Tristan & Isolde
Some kids buried us in sand, up to our necks.
We passed a beer back and forth. The sky was rose.
I felt an itch on my nose and a crack
in his armor. From the jellyfish shoals
I heard an air horn. Another heavenly day.
The breeze picked-up and tipped our parasol
toward the cabana, leaving sun in his eyes.
“You hear something?” he asked. “No,” I replied.
When the ship signaled again, he squinted
and asked, “I can’t see — are the sails white
or are the sails black?” I finished the beer
and stuck the lime rind in his pretty mouth.
“Black, dear, now go to sleep.” I rang the bell
and waited for a refill. One more blissful day.
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