THE YAAN: It’s the last day of Summer. Officially anyways. I waited for the sun to rise this morning and now I am waiting for the next two generations to come. We are going to the beach. To North Beach, less than 5 minutes drive from here along the Bellinger River. They call it Mylestom but we call it North Beach. Mylestom comes from the name of one of the first settlers at the North beach – TOM MYLES. WE often swim in the river pool along there and not so often at the beach but today we have plans.


On Home Beaches
Back, in my fifties, fatter than I was then,
I step on the sand, belch down slight horror to walk
a wincing pit edge, waiting for the pistol shot
laughter. Long greening waves cash themselves, foam change
sliding into Ocean’s pocket. She turns: ridicule looks down,
strappy, with faces averted, or is glare and families.
The great hawk of the beach is outstretched, point to point,
quivering and hunting. Cars are the stuff at its back.
You peer, at this age, but it’s still there, ridicule,
the pistol that kills women, that gets them killed, crippling men
on the towel-spattered sand. Equality is dressed, neatly,
with mouth still shut. Bared body is not equal ever.
Some are smiled to each other. Many surf, swim, play ball:
like that red boy, holding his wet T shirt off his breasts.
Subhuman Redneck Poems, 1996

Map picture

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