Life’s a Beach

Life was okay.

The ocean was beside us,
the resort was behind us,
and our manes were always brushed out.

We knew the routine:
we carried honeymoons,
anniversaries,
private grief in linen.

Sometimes they leaned down
to pat our necks
as if we were lucky.

Then one day Stardancer ran.

Not far—
just enough
that everybody noticed.

He went past the marked path,
past the place
the photographs were supposed to happen,
past the last neat stretch
of managed sand.

After that,
when they turned our heads
back toward the water,
some of us
kept looking past it.