Seaside sittin’ on ringside

sand04.jpg picture by pemerytx

The Beach Bar, Asbury Park, NJ

 

From the oneword prompt, “pastime

 

He was engaged in his favorite pastime when he first caught my eye.  He had a drink in his hand and his toes in the sand and he was mumbling something about beautiful girls.  When I got closer, I saw the drink was a margarita, saw him begin to lick some salt from the rim of the glass.  But when he felt the heat of my stare, he froze, his tongue still out, his eyes rolled toward me, questioning.  Less than a year later I left him in much the same position, his question answered.

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10 responses to “Seaside sittin’ on ringside

  1. Interesting poem.. It is one that grows every time you read it.
    haunting and sad I hink….I will read it several more times. I love it when I have to think

  2. OLD GRIZZ
    Hey, Old Grizz! Welcome back to this little side show. Don’t push those brain cells too hard, ‘cause this piece is one of those unfair ones. There is an intended meaning—the answer to why she left is abetted by the first line—but I’ve not done the reader many favors. A lot is superfluous like the Van Halen lyrics. Don’t ask me why, but when I saw the oneword prompt “pastime,” I thought of Van Halen’s song “Beautiful Girls.” There’s just no accounting for the strange inner workings here ; )

  3. I read it with a bit different slant. I figured she swished by and he wondered and she wore him out in a year. Left him there drooling in his itty bitty umbrella drink, staring blind at the ocean. She loved him up, used him up, spit him out and he will never find anyone like her, ever again :) That was the answer – be careful what you wish for little man – you just might get it!

    Maybe my present state of mind is leaking through just a tad. 2000 computers have to be put on the new domain, teacher profiles copied, printers re-installed, new gradebook to train on (after going to one training myself), and other changes. Little man on the beach wouldn’t stand a chance… Now back to PowerPoint hell.

  4. I love the ending…

    And the stuff that comes before the ending.

    Drop me a line and fill me in on life–for some reason the bberry won’t let me access email addy’s from blogs.

  5. DEE
    I like your version twenty million times better’n mine! I mean, yeah, that’s what I meant by all that blather to Old Grizz. Testing, one, two three, is all ; ) So I could stand to be you idea-wise, but gawd am I glad I’m not you career-wise right now! Holy mackerel. You sound all up for it, though. Got the can do attitude goin’ and the battle cry has been issued and you’re effectively taunting the enemy little-man-on-the-beach. This is good : )

    QUIN BROWNE
    I’m glad you liked it. I’d rather have thought up the coins on the train rails piece, though! Man, but you’ve been going great guns lately. This is also good! Me, I’m struggling these particular days. With creativity as usual and some nastier than usual bugaboos. I’m back in between projects and aw hell, I will drop you a line, tomorrow morning when my head’s as clear as it gets and I’ve got a coffee buzz going on : )

  6. In Mardi Gras parlance, this boy got hisself cups, doubloons, and a pile of long ones. Zulu coconut and brown baby to boot. That tongue never stood a chance. Sassy-fras.

  7. You didn’t happen to read that NY Times article on Asbury Park last week did you? The VH, the ocean, the margaritas. I was resonating all over this read! Not to mention the heat?! Hooowee, my tongue froze to glass! Pass the salt would you, please?

  8. PASCHAL
    Hilarious! I love your comments. I haven’t seen you around much, thought you were out of love with me ; )
    Looks like we passed in the dark, in the fog, here. Got back from a family thing today. No SS, no oneword, no nothin’ the whole weekend. But it don’t matter since nothin’s goin’ on upstairs anyway. N a d a. It may be awhile under the circumstances…

    MICHAEL O
    I read the one about Monkeyworks at the ShowRoom which was very cool. So if you meant that one, then yes! Oh, sorry, here’s the salt. Now then, VH indeed, during what I call the glory days, ‘74 to ‘85, yass, yass. I was all over that band as soon as I found out about rock and roll. They were with me when I left the Northeast for Clearwater Beach, bodybuilding, pissant jobs, partying on the beach every weekend. Nineteen. When I thought I life would be a piece of cake…

  9. Stop loving you? Please. Down my way, the Far Flung Adolescent Adventure that is the Instituto has begun in earnest: the urchins arrived in their wonderful flurry this morning. I suspect this may cut into the summer’s creative mayhem: we shall see. But, fear not: I send you Jules Letters all the time.

  10. PASCHAL
    Oh, yes, yes, far flung, I know, boy do I know from what I read on your site. Them’s some righteous far flung urchins you’re blessed with, Professor. Back in the day, if I’d have been in SA, the ‘rents would’ve sent me to your cool school. But as it turned out, now I can’t always hear letters on the wind when I’m mental, so you have to say them louder ; )

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