Five Trees

Five Trees
Five Trees

 

 

 

 

 

 

Five Trees
By ROSTI

Five trees with dying leaves. The center tree and the one to its left ablaze with the dying rays of the sun. A beach house stands at the end of the row. Abandoned. The marshy tufts of grass swept by a wind from off the beach, which slopes gently away from the grassy turf where the trees stand, erect against the sea breeze.

The dark outline of the beach house is captured stark against the evening sky with wisps of clouds blurring the outline of the golden sun.

It’s 3 PM and there’s a chill in the air as I walk toward the beach house, almost a silhouette at the end of the plateau close to where erosion has claimed and continues its claim on the plot of land where the arbor stands. Eventually they’ll either need to control the erosion or let the sea take the beach house. Even the trees flirt with the edge. I’m coming up the berm and climbing up the edge that spills into the flat space where the lonely trees wave gently against the sea breeze that drives the waves I can hear to my back. When I finally get to the flat grass where the beach house sits, I need to make a sharp right to walk along the edge of the plot of land to move toward the cabin.

I enter the cabin. I’m not alone. The tinkling sound of another man standing at the trough that serves as a urinal. I step up to the line on the floor delineating where one needs to pee over to hit the intended mark. The warm organics flow toward a central drain where we both hear our work flowing into the sewer.

Five trees. Two golden in the sunset. A sea breeze.

Stark against the evening sky.

A chill in the air. The eroding of the shoreline.

I walk to the cabin.

I am not alone. A dimly lit figure beside me works in the same way as I.

© Richard A. Martin, Jr. MD, CPC, 2016

We Went On The Boat (a sonnet for David)

We Went On The Boat (a Sonnet for David)
By ROSTI

It was our pride and joy, that boat…our prize.
We’d go to Key West every year in fall,
After summer downpours left the noon.
We made our pact there as we both had suffered
from the plague ungluing all our lives.
Now I’m here next to David’s pallid body –
pale blue masque on, jaw a slack, grotesque.
He made the leap; he had escaped, was gone
Upon a journey I could not attend.
He left me all alone to sail solo,
Yet, He was captain and I his lowly mate.
Who would pull the spinnaker to catch the breeze?
Or talk with me as a person, unaffected?
Now, I was all alone just cast upon the water…

I sold that boat…

 
© Richard A. Martin, Jr., MD, CPC, 2016