New Rhymes for Old Beach Birds: A Poem

Since retiring and moving to Zihuatanejo I am exploring the other side of my brain. I haven’t read a legal case in over two years. I wrote this at Arcadia Restauante over a few afternoons of vino blanco and Taxco and a few margaritas. I have been painting on my iPad as well. It’s a wonderful life.

New Rhymes for Old Beach Birds

They lack words
Yet they’re smug birds.
Fishing against the pelican
A fisher catches and hopes to sell if she can.
There are boats on the beach but no malecon.

Stiff but graceful Egrets
Tall skinny feathery cigarettes.

An assortment of pigeons hops along
No coo cooing, no paloma song.
The French serve squab with white wine and Dijon.
The Mexicans use the same word for dove and pigeon.

Soaring hungry frigate.
The wise senorita forgives but doesn’t forget, eh?
Forget-me-nots and kumquats.
I love that word, so deliciously dirty yet not.
I miss Mr. Charlie Watts’ rimshots
and fancy cups with teapots.

Nervous plovers stroll the beach
Like Mothers who extol and beseech
The young beyond their reach.

A sly deceptive cormorant swimming
Dives and surfaces out of reach.
In my younger days they drove my retrievers crazy.
Now I am an old coot on the beach,
Fat, drunk and lazy.
Oh, the things to the young man me I could teach.