stroll on the boardwalk

after walking on the boardwalk
for a few hours I go back
to my hotel room
and slip out of my clothes.
I wring the French fry oil
out of my shirt, shake
the pizza odor from my pants.
with tweezers I remove
the cotton candy out of my eyes
and the candy apple
shards from my teeth.
I have a fried chicken drumstick
in my front pocket.
and a breast in the back
pocket.
honey dipped, still crispy.
my shoes are sticky with salt
water taffy, gum and spilled
cherry soda,
and I have an onion ring
around both wrists.
i'm carrying a soggy white
bucket of shrimp
and a pint of cocktail sauce.
seagulls are harassing me.
my skin pulsates from the sun,
red as a lobster as I limp home.
my knee is swollen after being
run into by a kid on a bike.
not much has changed in
fifty years on or under
the boardwalk. I even have
a picture of me dressed as
a cowboy in one of those
old time photo booths.
I kept the hat.
old age has arrived, just
shoot me. go ahead. it's okay.