I Saw Another Dead Man

We were in the sea together, except you were only physically present. And then the whistles blew from the unassuming faces of lifeguards at the shore. My mind went to shark and my pace began to quicken as I hoped I wouldn’t assume the caboose position in our mass exodus towards the beach.

I was not last and you were not a shark. You are a breathless and naked man rolling with carless abandon in the waves. This will be the extent of our relationship. I see you, you don’t see me. As I stand there dripping off our recently shared ocean I can’t stop watching you, trying to unravel your mystery, knowing and coming to accept certain unknowing. I’m going to walk away when I see him covertly shooting you. To him you are a newsworthy spectacle, a story, but I’m still failing to find context. How can you adequately reproduce the unfamiliar?

I have a camera in my bag up the beach but I do not walk away to grab it. I walk away in an attempt to escape the voyeurism started by consented release of the cell phone shutter.

I am less curious about your history then your present. How long will procedure and bureaucracy of the living condone your final exhibition? Where is the body bag of our innocence and your dignity? Instead we are left floundering in what seems like unending and unnerving time with each other. I can’t estimate who is handling the contemporary discomfort better. You are the still peace to our frenzy but we are too loud to recognize the quiet.

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