OBSESSING IN THE SAND

Let's get away from everything.
The beach will heal my ills.
And you'll forget about working hard,
cold weather and the bills.

So, here we are and I'm walking far
with warm sun on my back.
The ocean's roar, such a soothing sound.
There's nothing this place lacks.

But then I start to think about
the things I left back home.
Poor Willoughby, our precious dog,
has little room to roam.

He's locked up in the "Dog Hotel"
with a hard, cold concrete floor.
He's used to sleeping on our bed
with pillows piled galore.

Oh, what will I cook when the kids come home?
They won't like what I fix.
Maybe we can order in,
after all, I've been quite sick.

The house is a wreck and doo dads rule.
The kids are minimalists.
They must think we are pack-rat fools,
the picture of junk store bliss.

Our tables are filled with
pottery, baskets, pictures and plants.
What if our grandchild hurts herself?
We cannot take that chance!

What if the house burns to the ground
while we are gone away?
What if the fish dies belly-up
from loneliness day after day?

I turn around and face the sun
as I walk on back, I stare.
I've been obsessing in the sand
and I'll stop! I'm here, not there!

Janet Brice Parker, 2003
Inspired by my son, Brice