Seaside Oregon # 1

Existing on both sides of the main street
small shops competing for those
who buy porcelain seagulls
and frozen tiny starfish encased in Lucite
on their weekend at the coast, their vacations by the ocean
at the coast, walking up and down both sides of the street,
going in each shop looking for different seagulls
shoes never touching the sand,  “look at the waves honey”
up the street passing the fascinating money game,
a shuttered movie house and bowling alley, and the arcade
men’s clothes, shooting galleries, and more small seagulls ready to sit on a desk or mantle
but not the real seagulls fishing in the tide, standing in the sand
but close enough to eat Caramel Corn,
fudge, salt water taffy, sea foam,
pronto pups slathered with mustard
watching the bumper cars, or other people, dripping  yellow mustard on their shirts
as a kid I wondered where all the tchotchke came from
who collected the baby star fish, the sand-dollars,
where did all those bermuda shorts and sensible shoes come from,
as an adult I wondered seagull stores were laundering money
as I aged and became cynical the baby starfish never changed their outlook,
forever of one purpose, the ceramic seagulls never shifting,
sand-dollars constant in their value
no renewal, the storefronts constant with different contents
the shooting gallery became a kite shop
Seaside Pharmacy a tee–shirt and schamata shop,
when I go to Seaside I still head for the  pronto pups
before I walk to the beach

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