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When the Beach is Mine Alone
by Harding Stedler
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Tractor man
combs the beach sand
at 3:00 a.m.,
preparing for umbrellas
that will mushroom
when the day breaks.
He sweeps up
plastic memories
left from yesterday
to make room
for new beginnings.
He makes ready
for morning waders,
for those collecting shells,
for those oiled to tan,
and for those
who attempt to tame the surf.
The spinning of his tires
in sleepy sand
is for me
an early wake-up call,
my only chance
to own the beach.
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