Catherine

14

five dollars for a ticket and a memory

Children running around with sticky fingers
and odd tan lines from brightly colored tee shirts
make me remember
what it was like to sleep until nine
and eat pancakes with hot syrup for breakfast.
That when you went to the boardwalk
you would always have pocket money
to play darts in the hopes to win
that giant bright pink stuffed monkey
that would wind up in the garbage
a month from then.
Your parents would just laugh when you’d turn around
with the biggest grin
that would remind them why they even had you in the first place.
They love you for you
and for the reason that you smile so brightly.
They love it that you like to splash around in the water
and that you don’t cry when you fall down
like the neighbors’ kid,
and that you just get up and keep going.
And they love that you get excited about the little things,
like getting a new pail and shovel the day before you go to the beach,
or getting a letter addressed to you in the mail.
The kids with sticky fingers are chased into the water
by mothers with frizzy hair and even worse tan lines
to wash up in the salty water,
and all I can do is smile,
because it’s not like they won’t get cotton candy
in their hair
and stuck to their fingers
at Jenkinson’s.
I guess for the older kids,
life’s just easier on the sand.