In, But Not Of

Seagull flies low, peruses the scene along the shore, horizon obscured by fog. Others follow, seeking edibles amid grains of sand. Beachgoers mill about until, fog passing, whistles blown, flags raised, lifeguards announce “Coast clear.” I boogie board, I body surf. In this place but not of it, I jut my tongue out and, as if prepping for a shot of tequila, lick salt from the edge of my mustache.