Scratchings On The Beach

It's all just scratchings on the beach,
where I come to relax in the sun
and wash away the rest of the world.
But on a Sunday morning
in my world bracketed by realities
and the insistent internet,
my favorite dot com news site
screams headlines into
my morning coffee.

A New pirate attack was foiled
on the high seas and briny foam.
Down in the border towns
the hitmen will tell you,
"It's all about logic," as someone's
children are killed in the crossfire
on our city streets.
Lives are washed away
like scratchings on the beach.

Three children died
in a Texas car crash
on a busy interstate this morning,
and a family was found dead
in a Maryland home,
not far from
the quiet ocean beach.

Once again Madonna
has fallen from a horse,
and I wonder why she can't
stick to singing and teasing
and let her career slowly flicker
and die.
Fame is washed away,
like words scratched on the beach.

The economy is floundering;
international relations a hard sell.
The Obama's Portuguese water dog
is doing very well
as he wanders the White house grounds,
like a playing puppy,
scratching on the beach.

Scientists find life beneath
an Alaskan glacier,
presumably after global warming
exposed new ground;
washed away
like scratchings on the beach.

It's all just scratchings on the beach,
where I come to relax in the sun
and wash away the rest of the world.
God look after us
on this Sunday morning
in this world bracketed by insanity.