of the summer,
tired from the new
loves we had found,
in this beach town,
tired of
the food and drinks,
we'd leave
our chairs in the sand,
our towels.
our cheap transistor
radio still on.
labor day weekend
was over.
the three
of us, young,
and unworried, unlined.
fit and tanned.
the world
before us.
we'd drive back to our
lives,
to work on Monday.
i think of those days
now,
as i fold my towel,
and carry the chair,
the umbrella,
the books
back to the car alone.
i gently brush the sand
off my feet
as i sit on the curb.
i wonder where they
are now,
those brothers,
those golden boys
of summer.
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