Down the Shore

August arrives, round as a melon
bursting with juice,
carnival nights, the lights
dancing in water that
eddies around the pier, reflects the
fat moon’s shimmies, a disco
globe revolving in a dark dance
hall, where waitresses and lifeguards
in cutoffs have come to
jitterbug, looking for a
kind of
love, that summer
memories are made of,
nothing for a lifetime, just
one night, when everything’s
perfect, your body firm as a peach, no
quarrels, no
running out of the car
slamming the door, just
this simmering night
under the boardwalk of stars,
velvet sand on bare feet,
waves kissing ankles, toes, tiny
x’s marking the spot where
your lips finally meet, on the
zenith of summer, watermelon August.

— Barbara Crooker, author of Small Rain

This poem is offered as part of our August theme: Carnival & Circus

T. S. Poetry

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