Sonnet for the Misbegotten

Jill Bialosky

The surfers are on deck in black diving

penguin suits, fins on their feet -- surfer school

for the youth of the rich set -- determined

to catch a wave while somewhere less pristine,

another suffers from inner unrest.

Look, the anorexics are frantically

speed-walking the beach pumping three-pound weights,

ignoring the scenic ocean view.

At last evening's barbecue we discussed

our boys: dyslexic, attention deficient,

prone to depression. How will we get through?

A sandpiper, regal in white and gray,

pecking frantically in the sand observes me,

creature from another world, on my deck chair.