The beach is cut by wounded scarps as if a ravenous god has taken mouthfuls

…The beach is cut by wounded scarps as if a ravenous god has taken mouthfuls with his or her god-sized spork, hungry for roughage. Rusted shells of cars offer a small barrier, sinking or rising from the sand. A hermit crab, casting aside it’s shell in awe, crawls, gobsmacked, into an old Morris Miner, where it now sits, feeling the cold wind batter against it’s soft uncovered body. He looks out over the newly low, flat coastline, littered with chunks of turf and a sand-sunken hills hoist.
I hang my most often work shirts and underwear on the poking out wire and go to sit next to the crab in the Miner shell. I look at him and then at you. I see you drop to one knee and show her that ring I helped you buy. I see her feign surprise. I see you ask her to marry you. Crab sees it too. Crab digs a spiral into the sand. I follow and turn circles into the sand until I am under, thinking you were mine.
As I spin, you drive me through the drive-thru and order me a taro turnover and yourself an iced coffee and fries…