The windscreen makes the scene a postcard:
The swollen sea pulsing in and out, a heartbeat crowned
By teacup boats, teetering on a tray.
Seagulls circle around a granite giant;
Stagnant in the sand, it drowns.

Expired vouchers wilt in the wind of the stalling engine
While bottle-cap limpets cling and rattle,
Coating a quarry of empty cans and receipts.

A boy presses a shell to his ear;
Salt and sand pour through the open window.

Cut the engine. A sandpaper breeze
Scrubs my skin into a smooth pebble.
I take my place among the bones
Of cuttlefish and silent stones.