People shaped clouds
form silently overhead as
radio voices compete with
ocean waves sliding onto timeless beaches.
A lounge chair, enameled white,
basks pale under a hot yellow star;
quartz granules, ergs of broken time
lap at its scratched wooden legs.
Cigarette smoke circles from pointing
fingers. Flying low, a plane pulls a message
with straight bold letters, causing eyes to lift
and children to point. The waves continue,
wasting nothing of the day
Roger Singer 