HOME SWEET SEA ISLE


Rocking gently on white wicker
Worry-free on the porch of my pretty blue bungalow,
Facing north, toward Great Egg Harbor and Ocean City,
With the Atlantic's roar in my right ear
And Ludlum Bay's gentle lap in my left,
Memories of every sort course through me,
A swirling nor'easter or a roiling hurricane.

I recall days long past in this magical place by the sea
Weekends 100 miles from parents and professors
Deep bronze suntans, too soon to be regretted
Pillow fights in ratty rented rooms
Sandwiches buttered up for muscled-up lifeguards
Frankie Avalon yet undiscovered
Chubby Checker twisting
Lingo largely limited to "cool" "sharp" and "copacetic"
Our style the very best of Main Line preppy.

Today, reminding myself these are the good old days,
I smile, because my kinfolk, each and every one,
Have, over the weeks, dropped by
For a gin and tonic, a cold Schmidts, a warm Guinness,
Crabcakes. Cheesesteaks. Tastykakes.
Soft pretzels with mustard. Hoagies.
A dip in the sea and a sit on the sand
A stroll along the sun-baked boardwalk
A walk to the pub, where Irish music speaks to our roots.

Quirky, but endlessly endearing, I love
That the waitress calls me "hon"
And the maitre d' calls me "sweetheart"
In that unique, unlovely Philly accent
Kindled, according to local lore,
By the confluence of the Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers
I am definitely home
Where it still feels cool to be a hon and a sweetheart.

by: Gigi