Saturday Morning, Coastal Town, No Kids
Potato-drunk with caffeine-
crossed eyes, we stumble
out into the dense cloud
of ocean’s breath, lost,
and look east, to trails
that wander in rolling hills,
with trees covered in moss
and rainbow spreads of aloe
bushes that call out to us
from behind the thick water-
wall. But our twitchy ears
also hear waves lap gently
against sandcastles formed
in our bedsheets, and our restless
legs feel the pull of gravity
to our third-floor cove,
where we can dissolve
into vapor and become
one with the fog.
880 to 17
The throbbing artery pumps
furiously through a body
of concrete and steel,
an aqueduct of glaring sun
and hurricane eddies of trash,
until it begins to serpentine
in the hills, shedding
stale skin as it contours
to ancient landscapes, mounds
of rock covered in living
soil, thickened by every shade
of green, baptized
in the moist spray
of ocean’s salty tongue.
A former resident of Aptos who now lives in Modesto, California, Matthew Andrews is a full-time private investigator and part-time journalist, writer, and poet. He has contributed to numerous regional and national publications, and he was previously shortlisted in the International 3-Day Novel Contest. His poetry has appeared in pacificREVIEW and Deep Wild Journal.
Potato-drunk with caffeine-
crossed eyes, we stumble
out into the dense cloud
of ocean’s breath, lost,
and look east, to trails
that wander in rolling hills,
with trees covered in moss
and rainbow spreads of aloe
bushes that call out to us
from behind the thick water-
wall. But our twitchy ears
also hear waves lap gently
against sandcastles formed
in our bedsheets, and our restless
legs feel the pull of gravity
to our third-floor cove,
where we can dissolve
into vapor and become
one with the fog.
880 to 17
The throbbing artery pumps
furiously through a body
of concrete and steel,
an aqueduct of glaring sun
and hurricane eddies of trash,
until it begins to serpentine
in the hills, shedding
stale skin as it contours
to ancient landscapes, mounds
of rock covered in living
soil, thickened by every shade
of green, baptized
in the moist spray
of ocean’s salty tongue.
A former resident of Aptos who now lives in Modesto, California, Matthew Andrews is a full-time private investigator and part-time journalist, writer, and poet. He has contributed to numerous regional and national publications, and he was previously shortlisted in the International 3-Day Novel Contest. His poetry has appeared in pacificREVIEW and Deep Wild Journal.
