The ocean was calm, a girl with her chocolate lab
walked down to the shore and left as soon as
the dog had done it's business.
An old man sat on a large piece of drift wood
that had been dragged up to the highest part
of the beach. We made eye contact
when I first arrived, he let his dog run loose.
Lieca, she looked like a Labrador/Boxer mix.
She and Jack got along wonderfully but
she didn't grasp the two part concept of fetch.
The old man kept his eyes down and sipped
from an aluminum can too large to be a soda.
Jack and Lieca chased my tennis ball into the water,
non-stop, for 25 minutes while I drank two MGDs.
I wanted to let Jack dry so I wandered towards
the old man still sitting on the driftwood bench.
I asked about the breed of his dog.
She was born in Mexico, a stray in the streets.
He told me the story of bringing her back across
the border to southern California.
She had her shots, customs confiscated her food-
a product of the US exported to Mexico.
He told me about growing up as a merchant marine
sailing from the bay, into the delta, stopping at Stockton
Back when the air field was property of the Navy.
Back when dirigibles patrolled the coast looking for submarines.
Back when the harbor bustled with fishermen.
Back when the cove was exposed to the ocean,
no breakwater had been constructed.
Back when yachts were the spectacle, not the fishermen.
The skin of his face was hardened with the years.
His eyes had sized me up the moment I set foot on the beach.
He had not said two words to his dog since my arrival.
We talked more about the good old days, tough as they were.
Things he survived, things I've only heard of.
Things are strange now, changing too fast,
neither of us felt at ease in this world.
He held can of malt liquor, his hand was steady as he drank.
I ditched school to take my dog to the beach.
I'm 28, taking one class at a community college.
I figured my actions were inconsequential.
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