I have mistaken the tides for my mother:
Propped on all fours, scrubbing the
kitchen floor to an iridescent gleam.
The chirping gulls and seashell clatters
distract my thoughts of Mop and Glo.
The ceaseless arm sweeps and waxes
my tip-toed imprints; destroying any evidence
of adolescent crimes that may or may not
have been committed.
I scavenge for souvenirs: mollusks,
sea dollars, morsels of plankton;
but the water’s obsessive-compulsiveness
sanitizes faster than I can fill my bucket.
I’ve spotted a blemish! Kneecaps coiled
like bedsprings jolt towards the poorly
buried treasure. My vegetarian eyes
blink and roar in hunger.
I question the forces--Why discard this
sea-grown delicacy? Fixating upon Miss Luna
for an explanation, she simply replies
with a crescent-shaped smirk.
Heaved from the carnivorous tide,
the sea carrot mopes in a mixture
of vomit and salty saliva. My mouth
will surely lodge its ill-green root.