The first one smashed to pieces

April:
He cuts the docks himself,
here they are in seperate
pieces,

some of them are the length
of your hand
and others the length
of the bottle of thirty
he forces on us,

so we won't burn like we have
today in an hour.

May:
Every year more wood is
added

because the boats need longer
docks to keep them,

and soon the wood is combined
with the neighbours wood
and we are forced to share.

The rocks used to be up to my waist
but now they sit above the water.

June:
The clay is dirty on my fingers
and all the shells are gathering piles
on the edge of the raft

and there is sun on the waterproof screen
that he forces and he

is sitting on the dock because the raft
is so shallow
that it isn't
fun anymore.

July:
"I'll beat you to the water!"
"No you won't..."

She beats beating the cold
everytime.

August:
I refuse to sleep on the bed,

my spine does not
bend that way
after months of living
on the sand.