Sand in My Bailey Bag, a poem.

Sand in my Bailey Bag

Squinting—the best kind of squinting
Against sun and sand and salt

March’s cold wind turns to Malaki zephyr
Ice—shaved lilikoi and pineapple

No Daylight Savings leaping ahead
Daylight Spending, extravagant lounging

Tropical birds call, brazen and wanton
While hot pink poodles shy from short waves

Ocean crashes rhythmic, almost steady
Just unpredictable enough to lose track…