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Guess Who Forgot The Pump?

To stem their disappointed tears, I kneel, blow life
into the yellow dinghy. Rocking on my haunches
I rest, boggle-eyed and dizzy, the tang of
last year's salt upon my lips. We tether it

with nylon chord, haul it over stones and drag it onto
crowded sand where the life guard's skull and cross' bones
thwarts their swashbuckling plans. They shrug
and lay siege to the shallows. The dinghy

wheezes now beside me, its air expending,
clinging to the beach like a near-drowned sailor.
I hug my knees and, straining to pinpoint their laughter
through the cacophony of sound, try to catch my breath.