Small Town Serenade

The air smells of virginal crystals. They dapple
my cheeks and chin with peach, aqua, and mint
green from lace-encrusted houses with round
attic windows. They tint my hair the color of

tomorrow. Leash-laden terriers and Labradors
yank their owners across stretches of knobby
sand, spellbound by that same fairy dust. It
swirls into their blood and injects their barks

with more octane. Shop owners selling incense
and sea glass keep food and water bowls out
front for stray cats. The grandpop cat carries
the shape of a groundhog with pride and the

colors of a piano with a Liberace lilt. The grey
cat was born with a limp, poor thing, but I
barely notice it anymore. The cat used to hide
in the bushes and under cars, but the air would

not have that. It whispered in her ear like a
lover, and now she walks with me every
morning on the promenade. We watch the
sequin-kissed ocean pop out its daily Cracker

Jack prize of acrobatic dolphins We view the
spectacle from a bench. Three or four sea
gulls join us, squawking for breadcrumbs,
but no matter. They are my family.