Playa

my wife used to chide me
for sitting too far outside
out past where the waves break
past the point
where I could expect a ride

but tonight, I am vindicated
for laying on my bed
hundreds of miles from the ocean
I can feel the slow roll
up and back, down and forth

balancing atop a yellow board
hands on my thighs
sun on my face
the warm water
laps against my legs

the quiet is interrupted
only by the slicing sound
of round water finally finding its edge
and cutting into the air
a thousand droplets shower down

my new friend Tony is with me
older, but boyish
Manhattan money manager pomp and shine
traded for trunks and a wry smile
he cuts across the face of perfect waves

I try, too
moving to the peaks
borrowing the energy
listening to the sizzle
of board through water

but mostly I just sit and soak
moved by the circularity
watching the orange orb sink
into a warm bank of red
I’m storing this up