Father and I slung
pink pumice stones
into the ocean

as he took care to explain
the unique geology
of our incredible beach

but I was too smiley
to care. As the big ones
crashed with a plop

I squealed joyfully
while Father explained
something big

called geomorphology
but I was just six
and I didn’t give a fig

for the movements
of the antique world
which was just the shale

scrunching shoaling
beneath my skinny
monkeying toes.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist