A father doesn’t change
to his son, not that much, like the ocean
the waves will come in sideways
along his forehead

and the son will sit with him
They will sit with the earth doing its
oldest trick and the son will see the slight tilt
of his father, the sacrifice, the sunburnt back

for him to vault from. This time
they talk about the pier restaurant owners
how they haven’t changed and
still call out orders

like bored jazz musicians, rotating
between instruments. The resorts are all
the same. The city at home is clicking
into more city like safety belts

so they drive out here, the father and son
A little girl down the beach
gets stung by a jellyfish. She catches it
herself in an orange bucket

Little by little
their time will get older
things made more
become smaller

The little girl
brings them the jellyfish
her pretty mother
in tow

She covers her daughter
like a fish inside her tentacles. How old
am I – the father must think – but
how much more there is of me