From the Fishing Pier (Nam Decade)

BY PAUL FORD

Far out the surfers start their ride. The day is gloss and wind and wide And I have come to get a rest From Time and Kodachromes of death. The wind makes dervishes of sand And bathers shroud their shiny tans, The surfers now are coming fast, Upright, tight, then slickly past. The clouds would seem to shred the sun, The sea threads white and slides down spun, The last wave peaks and surfers sag While plunging into rubber bags.

Far out the surfers start their ride. The day is gloss and wind and wide And I have come to get a rest From Time and Kodachromes of death.

The wind makes dervishes of sand And bathers shroud their shiny tans, The surfers now are coming fast, Upright, tight, then slickly past.

The clouds would seem to shred the sun, The sea threads white and slides down spun, The last wave peaks and surfers sag While plunging into rubber bags.