The vendors prayed
At blazing noon
For business centuries long:
“Fatter than Fatima!”
We heard them wail,
“Longer, yea, than Lourdes.”
And then advised:
You must return
Like you told those children
Or that man
You would.
They needed You,
Your feet
Impressed in sand
(Or was it mist
Gracing fly-flecked garbage
Rainbow-like
And slowly rotting food?).
We never knew.
Oh, there was the girl
Who cried, “She’s there,
She’s walking
There!
Can’t you see?”
As most,
Disgruntled,
Turned to go.
We only saw a wave
And shook our heads.
On impulse then
I turned
Watching
Though the sun
Tracked fire on my back
And my wife threw up
Her hot dogs, fries, and milk.
But all I saw was water
Clean the sand of trash,
Fill in all the feet
Trampling upstart business
To the ground.
From the highway later,
I looked down:
By starlight
Once again,
The beach was virgin.