Gun-metal gray, with a two foot chop,
And a lifting fog set Coronado’s shore line.
Remnants of last night’s beach dinner
Sit on the sand, awaiting tonight’s resurrection.
A tall bar table for two,
With a white tablecloth hanging unevenly,
Awaits the morning crew,
Who will remove the evidence.
A dozen folding chairs,
Resembling the aftermath of a New Year celebration,
(Leaning, lying askew, or erect, awaiting someone’s butt)
Looking to have failed a group support session.
Three pigeons move slowly across the surrounding sand,
Pecking at a potential source of delight.
Six others stand to one side
Possibly discussing tonight’s menu.
Within an hour this camera-ready photo
Will be replaced by children with sand pails,
Joggers of all shape and sizes,
And a break in the morning fog.
For this moment the picture is pensive,
Undecided on its degree of sobriety.
Phantoms of the drinkers and talkers
Fade as I move into this eternal day.
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