From 2014. Originally published in Plainsongs.
Posted here in memory of my father (+2 March 2018).
Chasing the Waves
With Dad. Revere Beach, 1972.
My three-year-old legs would scurry to pursue
The beast of the Atlantic in retreat.
Of course, its watery paws would soon rush back
To maul the shore. I'd run from their attack
As quickly as I could on toddler feet.
Delighted, Dad would look on, and would shout
Encouragement and warning: "Hey, watch out!
They're gonna getcha!" I would shriek and laugh.
I'm older now than Dad was then. No son
To teach this excellent art of having fun,
Of chasing waves for an hour, or a half.
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
Read 165 times
Written on 2018-03-04 at 09:30
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