Old Orchard Beach

Old Orchard Beach
By Jay Dardes
 
 
 
She was slim with dirty blonde hair and wore a black bikini

to help the family settle in for the day.
 
I watched idly, trying to determine if she was an adult,
fair game for lazy lustful fantasies,
or a teenager young enough that guilt would force me to forgo such thoughts.
But she was too far away to tell.
 
Time passes slowly on the beach, as it should,
and I spent a long while watching her, trying to decide.
 
Suddenly I knew: she was an adult.
Her movements, decisive, quick, certain, gave her away.
 
Young teenage girls don’t move like that.
They languish, barely moving at all, pose listlessly.
Yet to realize that they don’t have all the time in the world left.