Sea Stroked

In a Woody Allen moment, I imagined walking out into the sea—down the spine of the pipe, over its buttresses, into the splash and foam. I'd mermaid for awhile, perhaps, and dream, and all that I'd been expected to do would be done (what would be the choice?) by someone conveniently not me (another one of the multitudes of Beth Kepharts?).

I'd reemerge eventually—salt in my skin, green in my hair, fewer responsibilities.[image error]