Union Pier

Cold, really, for that time of year
and raining dismally
but it had stopped
and we walked down to the
deserted beach alone,
and I left my shoes by the stairs.
It was windy and the lake
was rushing headlong
toward shore
with white tipped waves
and the sand was cold.

I hardly knew you.

When we walked back
to the car down the road
I carried my shoes and
braved the rough shoulder.
You did not see but
I skimmed my body,

nearly naked beneath
my brown dress,
and with my other hand
I brushed the gravel and sand
from my feet.