Park Crossing families packed up
headed to Myrtle for the week
each summer. We’d get a house,
ocean-front, walking distance
from the arcade with Skee-ball
where I exchanged my allowance
for string and shells shaped into animals
We spend Thanksgiving at the same
beach with less people in line
for ice cream. Guys wake up before
black Friday shoppers to fish on the quiet
pier in long sleeves and winter hats.
Ladies crowd into vans, hot caffeine
and shopping list in hand. Ready.
This year our boy will touch sand
for the first time on the same beach we
walked as children. He will hear the
seagulls, look up to see flying fan blades.
Still too small for ice cream and Skee-ball,
we’ll hold his memories in digital frames
next to our own sand-filled first times.