Beach Front Motel


A burial at sea, playing
Russian Roulette
with sharp-edged memories.
Drunk on the beach,
didn’t know if the tide
was coming in or going out.

My star sign tattoo’d on your skin,
ice breaker for a heart breaker.
A 24 hour bandaid.
Beach girl who couldn’t swim
in a sports bra, dress & sneakers.

Little traumas worn on our sleeves,
& in our hair like sand.
Poured my beer into the Pacific
when you said you hated the drink.
A one night showing – movie matinee.

Came to share my darkness,
along that boardwalk
in that September Okinawa rain.
Just for a little while
and that was all right.

In a motel with a blocked toilet,
your hands on my face,
the moonlight on yours,
I thought I glimpsed
all the ones before and
all the ones to come.

After, we examine each other’s
scars, listening to the surf.
You said you’d never
done this before,
I said I might be back
for Christmas vacation.

Both accomplished liars &
that was all right. Waiting
on that sunrise with you.
And it’s all right now,
don’t worry about me,
I slept on the plane.


Stephen J. Golds was born in the U.K, but has lived in Japan for most of his adult life. He enjoys spending time with his daughters, reading books, traveling, boxing and listening to old Soul LPs. Glamour Girl Gone, his debut novel, will be released by Close to The Bone Press on January 29th, 2021. Follow him on Twitter @SteveGone58.

Categories: Poetry

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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