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"I Watch the Sunrise on a Beach in Miami" by Victoria Nordlund

It is the same one the middle-aged man with the metal detector

searching for coins and lost engagement rings a foot from me

should really check out. His metal contraption he drags behind him

jostles my towel as he circles the sand in front of me--

convinced this time he has found treasure.

I heard somewhere the point where the sky meets the ocean is called the offing.

The horizon line is a different color blue than the sky and the sea.

I wonder how far away it is from me--

A woman shouts on a speaker phone to her mom about her boyfriend/husband:

He is such an asshole./There are plenty of fish in the sea./I just can't seem to find happiness.

The ocean that stretches out in front of us --waveless and teal-- is not drowning her out or this

man with a True Religion tank top chatting it up with his friend on Bluetooth.

Judging from the accent, he is from Jersey.

The clubs’ are apparently fucking unbelievable.

The women are smokin’ hawt. He needs to score more weed. He is vaping next to a

tantruming child slathered in tears and snot in a orange stroller that faces me,

as her mom struggles to set up the umbrella and chair. Hurry--

get me out of here! Her brother is already in the water, shrieking that it is freezing

and I wonder if I can edit him-- along with the red Solo cup, shopping bag, and seaweed

out of my Instagram pic. Pigeons and gulls loom low over my head.

Cargo ship floats in on my right; tractor that rakes the sand threatens me to my left.

I just wanted a little Zen at 6:45am to write a Goddamn nature poem about the sunrise.

Perhaps it could have even rhymed this time.

But the universe gave me this one.  

And as I reflect on whether or not

You just can't make this shit up

should be my last line,  

A large man in a lime-green string bikini and Cher headdress strolls into my center view--

Sweating.

There are no clouds.