Beach Bullets

Turn. Pivot. Twist.

On the porch, serenaded by a cricket choir —
so charming! Lying in bed, the chirp
of a single cricket — so annoying!

A shivering dog left out in the rain,
dripping wet and cold as a miserable
werewolf, each raindrop a silver bullet.

My visitor from Nebraska buys
a sack of assorted seashells at a souvenir shop,
then scatters them along the beach.
from Harryette Mullen Urban Tumbleweed: Notes from a Tanka Diary

And so for day 1683