His hand swings absently alongside mine,
As the sand gives way beneath our feet.
The sound of children laughing drowned –
Distant crashing of waves upon the shore.
A mother’s feeble and half-hearted attempts
To scold, to chase, to apprehend,
Fade to the sharp wind.
I want to tell him how much I love him.
I dare not.
His profile is sharp, as the wind –
Proud and unreadable.
My hand reached hesitantly towards his.
Our fingertips brush
He slackens his pace and folds his arms,
Still avoiding my eyes.
“Let’s sit down,” he says.
Brush aside the beer bottles and cigarette butts
Lay our towel on the damp sand.
Gulls screech overhead,
Our footprints begin to fade.
I hand him his hot dog.
Silently, sharing fries.
We do not complain that the food is cold
Or that we have waited long to get it.
This is how I know
Something is coming and I wish he would
Just say it.
“What?” he asks me, annoyed
I am staring at him again.
“The seagulls look like eagles” I say at last,
Watching a little girl build her sand castle.
Her soft golden hair soaks
In the vanishing rays of sunlight.
He stands, holding out his hand again.
With a sigh, I take it.