I Hate the Beach

Sticky, salty humidity glues my wet hair to my face and

Sand fills every single crevice of my body.

Clean towels are not an option when

The ground beneath sticks to everything it touches.

I hate the beach.

 

Sun scorches my unprotected cheeks as I

Rush to find some kind of protection.

Sun block mixes with sandy fingers.

A homemade exfoliator?

I hate the beach.

 

Territorial gulls make their rounds in flocks,

Unallowing of a peaceful picnic on a blanket in the sand.

Tourists cover every inch of land with their 

Coolers full of light beer and their

Portable stereos blasting country music.

I hate the beach.

 

Warm water surrounds my body

But

Salt seeps into the cracks in my skin 

Causing a new level of discomfort.

Sharp shells beneath my toes snag my skin

And break my body’s protection.

I hate the beach.

 

The sun sets slowly above the horizon of water and

A cool breeze overcomes me.

Dolphins glide swiftly through the tidal river

As I bounce my bike across the rippled sand.

My dry, curly hair blows in and out of my face.

I don’t ever want to leave.

Sarah Brouwer '15