drowning

drunk again,
he calls from a pay phone
at the beach.
a large
orange
shirt draped below
his waist, shoeless.
hopping
from foot to foot
from the heat,
his eyes red
with booze
and cocaine. it's where
the money goes.
where tomorrow goes.
where all his
yesterdays
have gone.
but in the sunlight,
against the pale
blue sky, the young girls
walking by,
he could be anyone,
anyone about to surf
a breaking wave upon
the ocean, taking
a long sweet ride.