The Edge of the Shelf

The kid was screaming for his shoe,

a blue flip-flop that bobbed away.

The foam just took it, quick and cold,

and turned the rubber into gray.

I keep my boots on in the sand.

I don’t like how the undertow

can pull the floor from out your feet

before you even have to go.

I’ll stay here by the wooden pier

with damp, salt-heavy napkins piled.

The water’s heavy, deep, and dark.

It isn't kind. It isn't mild.