Ballyhooed
Irene shakes the clams to the bones.
Borrowed
Irene shakes in broken boots.
Bad
Irene flaps and flaps and flaps, opens her mouth
under
water and gobbles for air.
Belated
Irene belly-up on the beach,
blubbering
landlubber with eggbeater arms.
Forgetful
Irene, or forgotten,
picks
up an empty telephone and the canned
forgettable
ocean rings in her ear.
Earlier,
Irene could float for days,
the
way days were counted back then.
Earlier
Irene rummages under
the
sand for clams. Bad Irene prizes
open
the shells, bodies like dead tongues.
