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Seaside Destruction

A hot summer morning.
A Maine coastal town.
A house on the beach.
Sand on the ground.

Three brothers digging
trenches and holes,
sand piles forming
rises and knolls.

Not just that morning
and not half that day,
but all of that time,
their work was their play.

The sun shining brightly
burning the three,
but with scoops and with shovels
digging with glee
they changed a small part
of geography.

From flatness to fullness,
from plain to ornate,
the beach was transformed
from banal to great.

Tributary channels
reached here to there,
from trenches to pools
to moats everywhere.

Inclines arose,
hillocks of sand,
strategically placed
by shovel and hand
to hold off the billows
that broke on the land.

And dead in the center-
a towering mound,
made that much taller
by the trench dug around.

When it was done
the brothers agreed
there was more to be done,
much more indeed.

So they sat and they waited,
those vigilant three
in their city of sand,
so expectantly.

And finally it came
the finishing touch
the tidal destruction
they all loved so much.

For all of its strength
and fortified sides,
the sand was no match
for the billowing tides.

The three ran around
rebuilding each breach
the ocean would make
in its walls made of beach
until all was lost
and nothing could stall
their city's destruction
and certain downfall.

That's when they defected.
The brothers changed teams.
They pounded their city
to fine smithereens.

The three brothers smiled
when it ended at last.

Their city was finished.

High tide had passed.

Copyright © 1997-2021 Brendan Andersen