Abstract: The Can And The Beach
The frustrated man kicked his can down the street,
fuming as he went,
Why had he wasted his years obeying his fears,
and denied the power stored within.
Onward he kicked the now scratched and crinkled can,
up the alley toward the melody and glaring lights from the corner.
As alley gave way to avenue, the drifter paused to observe the action:
Diners slurping noodles and beer, chatting about culture and news of the day.
He could’ve joined them.
Yes, he thought of grabbing the stool next to the bar,
Of ordering dim sum from the waiter dressed in denim and sporting a cropped beard.
But, he doesn’t like beer or pride or being measured.
So, he crossed the street, can at his feet,
into the shadow.
He ambled west over the ridge toward the beach,
past giggling wino’s, concerned parents, and coked-up partiers,
until his feet felt fine sand beneath them.
The rhythm and thunder of the waves pushed all the world aside,
and he stood in awe as each of his five senses awakened.
Ordinary by definition but no less powerful or captivating.
He closed his eyes in reverence to the Creator, pulling the salty aroma into his nose,
and listening to the waves smack the rocks and spray foam on the shore.
And for a moment he turned back to the city and thought of its temptations and allure.
A sea breeze blowing at his back.
Then he looked down at the can, dented and scraped.
