Summer Crabs
The children run down the sandy, rocky inlet,
They scream as the small crabs pinches their pink toes,
The children pick up the little pinky crabs,
“Put those down,” yell the grumpy adults,
the crab drops like bomb to the rocky sands,
little feet run away, and the toes meet the cold gray sea.
“We are watching you; do you hear.”
The feet jump into the salty sea with a splash.
A young woman gazes out far beyond the crabs and children,
She waits, she waits, she waits.
A cold, fishy hand taps her on the arm,
She jumps in surprise,
A little boy with a yellow bucket full of tiny crabs.
She scolds the little boy he runs away,
The wave slides up the rocky beach.
Each slow wave reminds her of tomorrow.
The little boy lets out a yell of fright.
On each little pump hands are three angry red crabs,
“Get them off me”, cries the little boy,
She plucks each crab off little hand like you pluck a berry from a bush.
She kisses the little red cheek,
She waits, she waits, she waits.
The wave slides up the rocky beach.
The little red crabs skitter across the damp sands,
Each small bright crab a spot on the beach.
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