Member-only story
Never Seen Again
Nov 13, 2020
When I was in high school, we drove our cars
on the beach over rocks and logs; dented
pans and broken tails in the sea salt grass
fast upon flattened dark stones; sometimes snared
by a drifted log standing tall in fields
of amateur muscles; flexing our small-
town youth. On one particular neap tide,
shores were left wide open in the northern
black sand. Even at full throttle, the car,
the driver, and our expectations were
too heavy. The wheels arrested; slowly
claimed by the bay before our eyes. Later —
when the tide went out — there was nothing left
but three small boys; two of them did escape.
© Trapper Markelz 2020
If you enjoyed reading this poem, please consider:
