coney island
July
by Joan McNerney

Waters creep over my feet.
Should I stand shivering
or go swim? Lose my footprint?

Off I run, falling over myself,
a mug of salty cider. This
wave an insecure bed. Seaweed
pillow. Carried by moon to
an abyss.

The floor of my mansion is
not tidy. I shall have sponges
for lunch. Ride with seahorses
perhaps.

On the far shore, my lover
smiles, kiss of surf.

IMAGE: Vintage postcard “Romping on the  Beach at Coney Island ” (New York).

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: While this may sound like some exotic place, it is actually about Brighton Beach and Coney Island, Brooklyn. From 15 years old on, I would meet with my girlfriends with our grubby paper bags stuffed with towels and sandwiches. We each had enough money to ride the subway and buy some soda. My friends basked on the beach eternally looking for boys to stop by. Sometimes they would say these great-looking guys sat down and talked to them while I was gone. Really? I loved to be in the water. No hapless boys could make me hang around in the heat gazing at an enticing ocean. As it turned out, my lover was on the very far shore smiling in Boston.

jmc

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Blueline, and Spectrum. She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net.