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.