Long Beach still-life "Caution - Children" is the ice cream van's declaration in the language of uneven spray paint as it lilts siren lullabies to the ears of the weekend beach crowd reliably rousing the children from drowsy splashing to urgent scrounging for money. A centipede of weary cars crawls 'round the lot playing musical spaces, rap, rock and salsa colliding. Gulls leapfrog lampposts, landing and leaving, crows work the palm trees, pigeons do mingling; scurrying waders pitch high-pitched screams as waves chill thighs, inching higher, lifeguards sorting the sounds of passing calamities from pressing emergencies. Jose and Tamara queue up in the long line for ice-cream, smiling chatter passes the time, sandy dollars clenched tightly in hands still sticky from snacks. The woman in front can't make up her mind: "do you have sherbet" she asks the vendor whose English can cover the flavor still left. Peeling pictures tempt with their sold-out depictions, layers of stickers peg prices - no haggling allowed on the beach. Round dads, stately balding, flop family frisbees at small scrawny sons whose running atones for dads' sins in the lost art of throwing. Moms cover their blankets amply with flesh and with shade, bags, boxes and strollers fortify borders, meandering shadows from folding umbrellas and chairs, our leisure-time measured in empty containers. © Jon Bohrn (2000) |
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