I remember building sandcastles in soft sand,
then waiting for tidal water to come,
washing away my creation, re-smoothing,
reclaiming the wide and empty beach.

I am waiting for soothing water to come,
and wash away strife and news headlines;
a Professor sought in the death of his wife,
and a bullied boy committed suicide.

Well, before cooling water comes I see;
three wounded in another University shooting
and an Italian cruise ship thwarts pirate attack,
and I wonder what happened to sandcastles.

The Hand of God rock is being sold on eBay
and a bull runs loose in the supermarket.
If you pick a hairstyle you can save the planet,
but I pray for tidal waves to bury us
like sand castles swept off dirty beaches.