The swell today is sweet, bringing lines past
the point and into the cove.
Cars driven by surfers nearly crash
on the 101 as they slow. Around the bend,
unseeable from the road, is the rookery.
A baby sea lion barks near shore, tossed
to the rocks, lost or sick or too weak to jet
past the breakers. My son runs near the edge
of the bluff. Strangers look at me when
in a stern, too-loud voice, I say No!
Screw you. That’s my son and that’s my job.
I don’t say it out loud. It’s a beautiful day.
Chris Davidson is Assistant Professor of English at Biola University, where he directs the Biola composition program and writing center. He holds a B.A. from Cal Poly San Luis Obispo and M.F.A. from the University of California at Irvine. His poems have been published in numerous journals, including Alaska Quarterly Review, Caesura, Cimarron Review, CRATE, Dust Up, Orange Coast Review.
*Photo courtesy of rkramer62.