more boiled than he did burned
from
the sun.
his day at the beach would
be remembered
not for joy, but for pain.
how red
he was, how tender
his skin had become
under the rage
of an unrelenting summer sun.
and now when
i look back at the photo
and see me smiling,
shovel and bucket in hand,
bare skinned
with the green Mediterranean
sea beyond the sand,
i wonder, where my parents
were. arguing
no doubt, somewhere.
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