BY DANIEL PRAVDA
On the northeast ear of Virginia Beach,
two lighthouses pierce the fog of dawn:
one black and white striped, the other brown brick
with a green copper top. When did the taxpayers
bestow barbed wire on themselves?
At eight a.m. sharp the Star Spangled Banner
gets mangled by crashing waves and running break.
The sands end at the red house on the rocks:
granite jetty Cape Henry holding
like a fist, blooming at every ebb tide, singing
like an honest siren. When the ocean
routs your fence and drags that barbed wire
out to sea, I will walk past and share
a laugh with the lighthouses again.
