Mr. Pink

She slipped in her black neoprene shirt, ready to take on the sun and bring on the dirt

The stammering sea sings as she waddles up to its knees then, to its shore and back again

Before then, she was on land playing sand, lying face down on a banana leaf-looking board

Crouching, bending, balancing on the flat bed shore

Came Mr. Pink, the dark canny little man, with pink eyeglass, pink rashguard, and pink sunblock cream permeating his nose and bony cheeks

He looks like a little boy who played with his sister’s pink make up set

He grins his crooked grin, tells her she’d do away with him

Never mind that this is only her second try,

Never mind either that her sunscreen dabs her already misty eye

Mr. Pink exclaims when she tells him she could not swim, but tells her it’s gonna be okay,

there seems to be no other way anyway

The first swell had better tell, she would not get any farther,

Not farther from the shore, never farther from the ocean’s last curl

But look there! She goes, arms stretched out to the wind, knees wobbling in disarray

Riding on the gravity, standing on both feet, spine in awkward stretch

Hands flair open as if to say, “look here! I’m gliding on the water and the air!”

Mr. Pink,  dripping in his pink rashguard and pink eyeglass, his pink sun block now awashed from his face, raises a fist to her with one thumb tucked out in the open air.

the infamous Mr. Pink

Wind

4/10/2014; 11:10 AM