Cannon Beach
Floors always sandy
swept every day by my mother
one place had a loft
the other, a treehouse
of sorts, without a tree,
not far, the beach
better yet the town
with all the shops,
the expensive grocery store,
the pathetic library,
we cooked in the cabin
and watched Richard Nixon
destroy our faith in government
for the first time,
had picnics on the sand
food from the only bakery in town
and Pelican Punch tea
with popcorn in the evenings.
These summers,
now just in my memory,
on the Oregon Coast.
September 25, 2009
© Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 772 times
Written on 2009-10-12 at 00:44
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