The same five tunes drone
on the only two stations
my Camry gets,
Hurling down Rt.16
swallowed in chicken-shacked corn fields.
Driving into Rehoboth Beach, Delaware
Foot tapping expectantly, eager.
I’m ready to be sun-kissed,
kids’ screams mingling
with the surf.
of world-worn feet:
Water temp, 64o.
Thrasher’s fries waft in the air;
Seagull mobsters point the way . . .
nighttime masses laughs and cries
mingle to a din —
in scampering crowds,
I came here thinking I’d escape,
Only to find, as the sun burns off my detritus,
I’ve finally arrived.