A Day at the Beach

(written for gothicsurrealism's competition)

There is the heat,
the ubiquitous and sad
blue umbrellas,
the water and the gulls.

The beach
is dedicated
to a dead man. He died
the year I was born.

I've gained
so much weight,
I must use
the beach chair as a walker.

The salt I taste
in my mouth
from the sea
is soon replaced by

the salt of my tears,
face burning in shame
as I push myself in agony
towards our destination.

Every ounce of hatred for myself
gurgling in my throat
and dripping mucus
from my nose.

I sit in a black dress
upon the shoreline.
Watch my daughter and her fiance
swim and kiss within the waves.

As people laugh and drink beer
in bikinis and Speedos,
I mourn
the loss of myself,

my youth and my life,
and the man
named Leroy Colombo
whose body is buried far from here.