Word’s fell out of Lori’s finger tips
to hide as beach sand
where she walked
waves lapping at her feet.
She touched every shell
in hopes of finding a full one—
eight legs scrambling
to set up a fighting withdrawal.
For hours the tide pushed
Maslow’s hierarchy of needs
father up the beach
in receding triangles.
American driftwood.
American driftwood.
Chinese driftwood.
American driftwood.
Visionary seagulls
were happy to be off their meds
discharged from the psych ward
unlearning democracy.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 