shadow

That Early Morning Jazz

A poem.

That Early Morning Jazz (Dewey Beach, Del.)

There's more gull traffic
than highway noise
and the footfalls of a jogger
reach all the way upstairs.


The ocean tongues my face
like a wet dog, as waves
almost drown the sound
of the first bakery vans.


A few bars of old rock & roll
sail in on a breeze
that dances with a line full
of yesterday's beach clothes.
– B.R. Strahan

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