At Hot Water Beach

by James Schneider

At Hot Water Beach
North Island, New Zealand

If you dig in the right spot scorching water
bubbles up as waves crash in.  A dozen
Goldilockses we are, shoveling out sand
for small pools to sit and burn in and digging

trenches for cold sea to enter, to get it
just right.  An old woman calling figlia
to a girl dipping her doll’s feet, a father
barking the German of World War II movies.

It’s fun and then it isn’t, but we keep at it.
Two guys with tattoos on their arms swivel
their heads to look for girls — and here, in
a pink bikini, comes Goldie herself!  But her

man’s plodding along behind with their gear,
a big bear of a fellow, hair matting his chest
and forearms.  She watches for a moment
with her hip cocked, waves her man over —

and there they go.  Goldie looks like
a divorced friend of ours and I wonder
if she also thinks that though this guy
needs work, she’ll marry him anyway.

But, after a while, will he start to growl
when she runs too hot or cold ? The old
tales, novels, psychology try to teach us,
and we get it, when the lesson applies

to others.  So here foolish folks sit
scalding and freezing, and, oh no,
a giant wave!  I’d better grab my shovel
and run back to where I can make it better.