The Graveyard of the Beach Chairs

Alan Catlin

You can see them in late afternoon
the dead beach chairs:
all the collapsed seats,
torn webbing,
frayed ends wavering in off-shore breezes,
bent aluminum support poles,
a kind of in-progress kinetic art form.

And their companions,
the loungers,
dozens of them,
relics of some massive party gone horribly wrong.

All the terry towels,
volley ball nets,
empty beer cans,
and wine coolers,
blown away
recycling with the tides.

Just the recliners now.
The empty lifeguard stands overturned.
All of them partially buried in sand
as far as the eye can see.