Seated on a concrete pier block
poured into rigid granite
under the tony Chart House
I survey the length and breadth
of tantalizing Monterey Bay.
A skittish sun descends beneath
the vanishing western horizon
as in the distance
on the hills of meditative Seaside
crystalized lights
bristle too bright for my eyes to seize.
A long black stripe that is beachfront
separates empurpled gray clouds
from a glowing mauve ocean.
Then a spiffy little speedboat
dashes across
those languid bay waters
straight as any laser
with a brilliant blue bulb on its bow
as though pursued by crocodiles,
headed directly for a berth
in the darkened harbor.
Behind it put-puts a puny craft,
its sail a neat array
of flickering red
incandescent lamps.
Grey Sparrow Journal 