Headlands

Tall, thin beach grass.
Smothered, smooth clear glass.
Circling sand dollars and
Burping kelp bulbs.

Chasing horizons and gulls,
Then running smack 
Into the backseat's way back huddle,
Splashing through puddles.

With the single, troubled mother.
Heading home to remember
The sand in our shoes from
The every other weekend blues.