I wondered what it could mean
that on my first view of the ocean
a dog lay dead in the surf. Bloated
and caught on the sand, its black
body swelled gently in the come here
of waves, its hair an aura around it.
No one stirred. Sipping drinks, laughing
as though it wasn’t right here, catching
the breakers, walking the beach. Why
don’t they drag it away? Does nobody
see it but me? The tall lap swimmer
proclaims at dinner: I saw the dead dog
float out to sea. Relieved for us all,
the only one worried, I nod and think:
Share this post with your friends.