Splinters on the Boardwalk

Splinters on the Boardwalk

I remember fearing that
  If my flip flops slipped off, my kid feet
Would be splintered by the rough wood of the boardwalk,
  Sunbleached and dessicated,
Boards laying diagonal,
  Barkers before their stalls at right,
Benches and the rail overlooking
  Sand and sea surf rolling left

After a day at the beach
  Mom wanted to show me the boardwalk,
Or her boardwalk, this storied place
  Where her Father had brought her,
I don’t recall wanting to see it,
  More like she was the kid this afternoon

Us walking along, my mother commenting
  On the attractions that had been here, or there,
Each having been replaced by a new one since,
  And my mind elsewhere

“Are you listening to me?”
  We’d stopped before “The Yacht Club,”
Basically a green water circle that ‘yachts’ went around in,
  Obviously on wheels,
Rolling over ramps unseen below the green,
  Immatating how a rolling a sea cruise feels

“Mom, I want to ride the boats…”
  “How much?”
The Italian Barker said “A quarter,”
  “Wow, rides used to be a nickel!”

“Are you listening to me?”
  It’s you and I a generation later,
We’re stopped outside a ride called “The Speedway,”
  Boxey plastic racing cars that went around an oval race course,
Plywood street painted ramps providing the ups and downs in the illusion
  Of a Monte Carlo race track

You said “Dad, I want to race a car!”
  “How much?”
A Pakistani Barker answered “Three dollars,”
  “Wow, the prices have gone up!”