Bap bap bap bap-bap!
Bap bap bap bap-bap!
A hundred drummers thunder down the boardwalk.
She’s decked out in a blue tee, green epaulets,
blue lipstick, glitter on brown skin.
Beats a fierce rhythm with her comrades.
“I see you!” we shout.
She points at us and drums a little louder.
For a milli-second, we’re connected —
Us to the drummer, drummer to the drum corps,
Drum corps to the parade,
Parade to the boardwalk,
Boardwalk to the city,
City to the universe.
The beat still reverberates out past Alpha Centauri
Saying “We here
On the Coney Island Boardwalk,
On a perfect summer day.”
July 2026