when I was a child, we used to ride in my dad’s stuffy VW van
all the way from Omaha
to Galveston Bay, without complaining
because the summer’s in Nebraska were so bad
we’d put up with anything to get away.
once there, nothing could get us out of the water
not the dead, floating fish that pummeled us with each
passing wave, not even the occasional electric
jelly fish sting. we’d ride everything out in silence, because
complaining meant going home.
it is very pretty here, standing on the beach, but not the place
I remember from 20 years ago. my own children
are too spoiled by the green forests and wild deer
sightings, the cold clear waves of the Pacific from family vacations before
to spend more than 15 minutes in the dirty water
at the Bay. nobody says it, but I can tell
they’d be happier spending our family vacations
anywhere but here.
