There was wind between the clouds and the earth when we argued on the beach an easterly cloud darkened day that whined past our ear holes and picked up the sand that covered our ice creams our teeth whipped the skin of the son and the daughter and made the baker nag customers to close the door when they came into his shop ***** Things I said to you into your sunglasses went unheard by the kids or maybe they ignored for the ecstasy of the wet mud-sand that they could cover each other with free of consequence ***** The son pointed to an albatross that swooped on a crab the size of a meat pie ***** Wind noises between my words from a nail gun I hate you I’m going to pack 5 shirts And leave you threw sand that was hard to gather it was so wet and thick so only a sprinkle hit me which made you madder and you sat away in the easterly wind cocoon to soak up the hate to move the clouds the water, the sand seagulls following the albatross with the big crab in it’s beak people all around walking dogs kissing children thrown in the air like it is was all fantastic in this wind ***** Later in the surf at Skene’s Creek beach I helped the son ride a board for the first time something unforgettable that belongs to me now like the black cockatoos above the surf the mountain behind your hands on hips, smiling at the son on the wave that belongs to me ***** At night outside the beach house reading quietly old people inside with all lights on loud air conditioner louder television drowning out the crickets that flew into your back my face making the night hotter six small flashes of lightning in an hour showing a pocket of horizon orange silver grey orange orange yellow way away ***** In the morning I didn’t tell you how beautiful you looked on purpose ***** on the walk with the son and the daughter we saw the sea urchins the dead penguin and starfish shark shaped rocks caves with couches a bolt drilled into the rock the wind gone then ***** Back at the house the old people talking over lunch about how they could buy as many toilets as they wished from the second hand barn you could also get shoes orange juice chain crucifixes ***** You, the son and the daughter slept all the way home through the flat farms between Colac and Ballarat pines, oaks dead, from World War I no music in the car all the way home replays of the argument on the beach and old people in the second hand barn interrupted by a slow tractor a trailer with a bag of wool a hawk crows everyone asleep
A Record of Our Trip (Nebraska)
12 February 2012
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