The Boardwalk

Havre de Grace —

My wife and kid butcher it beautifully,

All giggles and mangled French,

Making it theirs.

We arrive.

Woah.

This boardwalk knows its name,

Stretches along the shoreline,

Counting birds — and one escaping children’s Bluey toy,

Amazing how much life

Fits in such small spaces —

Snapping turtle sunning,

Heron standing like a question mark,

Osprey writing circles overhead

Marina to lighthouse,

A beginning and an end

Connected by planks

Beautiful “natural” recreation(s)

And the promise of ice cream.

We rush off,

Bay air in our lungs,

And carry home the sound

Of water lapping wood,

Of wings cutting sky,

Of laughter that can’t pronounce

Beautiful things

See you at home,

Where we’ll try to explain

How a boardwalk becomes

A bridge between

What we came looking for

And what we found instead.