Saturday Poetry - 5 Minutes At the End of the Pier

5 Minutes At the End of The Pier

I didn’t have much time to spare,

Maybe thirty minutes was all,

So I decided to drive to the beach

And park my car

And walk to the end of the pier

And sit.

As I neared the ocean,

The breeze began to pick up speed.

My hair blew into my eyes,

And my linen shirt caught the wind

Like a sail,

Like a flag.

Everyone else out at the beach

Were wearing sweaters or jackets,

But I just had a linen shirt and jeans.

I must have looked silly in the chill air:
My hair in my face, my shirt flapping.

Most of the people there were fishing:

Standing mutely, their hands in their pockets,

A pole dangling off the side of the pier.

Some talked in hasty Spanish about this or that;

Most were quiet.

If they looked at me, I didn't notice.
As I stepped on the wooden slats,

The wind blowing my hair in my face,

My shirt flapping,

All I saw was the sea:

An empire of blue and green emptiness

The possibilities beyond

The unending line of the horizon

The light reflecting off the water

The faintest outline of the islands

My wind-blown hair partially obstructing my view.

I walked to the end of the pier,
The sound of my footsteps inaudible over the sound
Of the sea
And the wind,
And sat on the bench.

It had taken longer than I thought to walk there;

I supposed I had five minutes,

Just five.

So for five minutes I sat on the bench

At the end of the pier

And I looked out at the unending blue

And I felt the breeze on my face and my hair

And I breathed

And I was suddenly conscious of my breathing.

I was breathing.

When was the last time I had breathed?

I couldn’t remember.

I found that strange.

I looked out at the unending blue and I breathed

I breathed, really breathed, for five minutes

For five minutes at the end of the pier.

And as I sat

And as I breathed

I thought:

I thought about people who had never seen the ocean

I thought about people who would never see the ocean

I thought about people who dreamed of the ocean

That they would never see.

And I looked out on that ocean

And I was thankful;

Thankful I had the ocean
Thankful I lived in California

And thankful that for five minutes
A whole five minutes

I could breathe

As I sat at the end of the pier

Saturday Poetry - A Rock

A Rock

Today I threw a rock

It was a small one, a pebble really

Not much

I threw it at a window, not expecting anything

A gesture

When the window broke, the sound was not so loud

But not so small either

Like when a server drops a plate

And everyone claps

Why do they clap?

What assholes

The rock didn’t hit where I wanted it to

My aim isn’t very good

I was surprised it hit anything

It struck the letter “P’ and that was all

A little hole appeared where the “P” would be

The “P” was gone

And the window was left with TRUM

TRUM is the sound of a rusty horn

Or an elephant maybe

TRUUUUUUMMMMMM

It is a loud sound, obnoxious

It fit

I was surprised

Both that the window broke

And that I broke it

I didn’t know I broke windows

But I guess I do

Because there it is

Broken

Maybe I should have been sorry

Or I should have been scared

But all I could think was

What else can I break?