End Of Season
by Sylvia Riojas Vaughn

Flip-flops marked down,
shorts priced to clear,
vacation photos making their rounds,
summer, outgoing tide.

I’ve yet to beach comb.

Clouds from eastern Atlantic,
harmless scant days more,
brush my flight.

I stake my claim on the beach,
nearest neighbors many steps away,
dance naked in
deserted bathhouse,
order shrimp
boiled into a vowel,
too much beer.

Sigh on plane home.

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