Doppler shift

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

I wake to the rhythmless crashing of waves,
On glass-bottle shores polished smooth by calloused hands,
Broken by jaded souls,
Friends and lovers descend to bickering, their inane dialogues become Shakespearean the closer to dawn they get.
My gulls have passed, taking their laughter with them, leaving
Giggling jackals by the mattress that appeared overnight.
An old man, crumpled shirt, photographs it, proof of the degeneracy of youth,
But that was later before I…