Boardwalk Blues

by Peter Krass

Here, where cups of frozen custard once thrilled,
Dusty timbers splinter, spit rusty nails.
That boarded-over booth, disgusting
Even rats, formerly fried French fries
Dripping orange curds of day-glo cheese.
They tumbled my stomach on the Tilt-a-Whirl.
Burgers got burnt, salt-water taffy
Tangled in my teeth, and on a rainbow of blankets,
Tiny bathing suits were stitched together with time.
That pile there was the fun house.
A fan hidden in the floor flew a girl’s long skirt
High as her slender waist. Her flustered hands flapped,
Her face burnt red with embarrassment
Or maybe just too much sun.
Now a futile wind blows, scooping breezes
Off the sea. Atoms wash from my face
Like grains of sand
That once upon a time were stone.
I too had once hoped to change the world
With nothing more than air.