photoart: ralph murre
Alpha-Male on the Beach
by Michael Estabrook
Yesterday the water was cold
and the waves choppy, but I went in anyway,
I went all the way in anyway,
the only one in.
I swam along the shoreline,
half a mile or so, my wife and granddaughter
following along on the beach.
“Wow,” her eyes sparkled, “You were like
a triathlete out there.” She took
my hand, so proud of me.
So today, the same situation, only with
the water even colder, the waves choppier.
When things calmed down, everyone finished
with their snacks and flying their kites,
I stood from my beach chair,
stretched like a waking bear,
swung my arms around and around
over my head so everyone could see me,
flapped them like Michael Phelps flaps
before he dives in.
Then I popped in my ear plugs,
strode solemnly out, so bravely, so manly
(the alpha-male on the beach)
through the rocks and seaweed,
cracked shells and snails,
finally diving into the churning frigid sea,
swam out and fought my way
along the craggy shoreline just like yesterday,
only this time nobody even noticed.
~ first appeared in Minotaur
