Lone wolf at the beach 

Each wave is as drenched as the other.

One wave is never drier than the preceding wave,

nor wetter.

This wave is taller than the next which is high enough.

Each wave dies the same death as the wave before it.

I almost drowned, once.

Some people play games with waves.

They ride them like bucking broncos toward the shore,

hanging all ten toes over the forward board.

I understand there’s a technical phrase for this procedure.

Then they zig and zag like Karl Wallenda in a gust of wind.

Sometimes the wave curls over them like an igloo

as if protecting them from dryness.

I’m usually dry.

I’m a dry person.

It’s my intention to remain as dry as possible throughout the day

and especially through the night, but most especially at the beach.