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Rich Furman
Sand Crabs
To find sand crabs,
we would dig our shovels into the sand,
just as the waves' foam
retreated back into the sea.
Dime sized, soft bellied
as quick as the rays of the sun,
they would crawl down our legs
swim in our pails full of sea water,
or bake in the sand,
if we took them too far
from their homes by the shore.
Walking alone I dig my hands
deep into the sand,
finding bottle caps, worn glass,
styrofoam bits, plastic wrappers
and lifeless dusts.
Pockets of oil and poison
replace the bubbling breath
of those tiny scuba divers.
Swimming in that water now,
is at the risk of an eye infection.
My pails have been replaced
by bigger, high tech toys,
my hair thins and grays
unnoticed by all but me.
It is the passing of life into nothingness
that seems to go unseen,
and global warming melts polar caps,
which I don't really
understand either.
1992
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