Bird in Oscoda

My Saturday:
Drank early in the afternoon. Napped. Woke and rolled a loose cigarette with Evan. Walked out the back door with blue plastic cups of gin along lake huron and watched sun set behind us; longing shadows reflected in shallow tide pools. A humming purple strip of sky to the north; we ran from summer’s storm along the lesser public beach. Cigarette butts and leathery old ladies panicked in the wind. A sea bird walked along for a cigarette’s length, it was sick, broken-winged.