The Beach

The Beach

We walk to the beach
With Grandma.
We always do.
On sparkly mornings, we pack a lunch with cherries and angel cake
And jam our beach bags with our bits and pieces.

Caitlyn, who is three, brings a pineapple jar with curves on the side,
A sky blue pot,
A pink rake,
And a red and yellow broom with a broken handle.

I take a turtle sand mold, and a screwdriver to make holes,
A Jell-O dome,
And an old purple bucket that the dog chewed
But still has Maddie in faded gold letters on the side.

Being practical, Carter brings a sandcastle mold
And a strainer to strain all the sand, a pooper scooper,
Three bottles of sun screen SPF 50, 50 and 30,
And three shovels, two are yellow and one is green.

We all go into go in the water,
But not Grandma.
Grandma is the look out for dogs and rip tides.
She uses the broom to sweep sand from our towels

We are going to build the sand castle with wet sand.
We are going to hope it will stay and not break.
We know it will fall over, because we always build it too close to the water.
It always does.
We always do.


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