Seaside Oregon # 1

Existing on both sides of the main street

small shops competing for those

who buy porcelain seagulls

and frozen tiny starfish encased in Lucite

on their weekend at the coast, their vacations by the ocean

at the coast, walking up and down both sides of the street,

going in each shop looking for different seagulls

shoes never touching the sand,  “look at the waves honey”

up the street passing the fascinating money game,

a shuttered movie house and bowling alley, and the arcade

men’s clothes, shooting galleries, and more small seagulls ready to sit on a desk or mantle

but not the real seagulls fishing in the tide, standing in the sand

but close enough to eat Caramel Corn,

fudge, salt water taffy, sea foam,

pronto pups slathered with mustard

watching the bumper cars, or other people, dripping  yellow mustard on their shirts

as a kid I wondered where all the tchotchke came from

who collected the baby star fish, the sand-dollars,

where did all those bermuda shorts and sensible shoes come from,

as an adult I wondered seagull stores were laundering money

as I aged and became cynical the baby starfish never changed their outlook,

forever of one purpose, the ceramic seagulls never shifting,

sand-dollars constant in their value

no renewal, the storefronts constant with different contents

the shooting gallery became a kite shop

Seaside Pharmacy a tee–shirt and schamata shop,

when I go to Seaside I still head for the  pronto pups

before I walk to the beach