On White Rock Beach

Autumn sun still hot on my back,
Turn at the stone bear, give his nose a pat.

Gull on one foot on the railroad track;
My naked feet relish fresh-cut lawn,
Bare toes ecstatic
avoid the cinder block promenade.

A couple walking, bird on his shoulder;
they are backlit by sun: Is it a crow?
I turn back after passing; I really must know.
A grey parrot cocks its head, says “Hello!”

The west point of land reaches into the sea:
like a horizontal ladder:
the pier underlines it perfectly,
every post visible against the evening-bleached sea.

Distant whistle: coming train shakes the track
Silvery monster rounds the bend and bears down,
looms and chuffs past,

Then the wailing whistle dwindles
Two red lights recede,
like buttons on the neat vest
of the rearmost car.