Sunset Beach Poem by Bernard Henrie

I am not drinking this summer,
dry as hydrangeas in a copper pot;

open saloon doors along the sand,
endless sunlight, perspiration
at the hairline, patches of tan over
the stomachs of bikini cheerleaders,
boys in florid shirts, fading tattoos.
The grizzly maul of days without
alcohol;

my girl friend pulls me across
Adirondack chairs and restaurant
floors.

Barefoot, beside capsized shoes,
we read from a rickety book
of poems; we order ice water
and sugary cake, a late cigarette,
a wade in the emerald sea.

We sleep tangled,
our breathing slides out to each
other like patients in a sick ward.