Sandcastle

Sandcastle

By Shaire Blythe

February 20, 2017

A child lives in his own sandcastle along crested waves

that come to life each time dawn emerges

from the edge of the blue expanse,

and he drags out stars and coral fish,

whispering, "What shall I do with you?"

He lets the creatures free, to roam the waters that sing

sweet lullabies of treasures buried and lost

at the hands of mystified explorers who had calmly

stroked their beards, smelling of greasy layers of six month filth.

Delicate breasts had once known the comfort of the child,

swaying him as the seagulls elegantly soared above,

circling a temporary spot as they waited for him

to rise to his feet and inch closer to the sea.

Waves tickled the tip of his toes and

he had stopped, uncertain about how far was enough,

and no one had cried out that seagulls weren't to be trusted

and to linger on the sand was a safe haven.

A child lives in his own sandcastle along the crested waves,

that cannot be seen by the eyes of the bikini-clad beachgoers

and stationed lifeguards in wooden towers,

only coming to life each time dawn emerges.