Brad delivers cakes to the surf shop
All buns iced in the style of crashing waves
Rolling in and out with the changing moon.
Sounds like witchcraft and probably is,
Sounds like witchcraft or maybe lupine
Mad-dog-full-moon surf technology.
Baking for the ocean to take away,
Bushels of windfall riding in on the tide.
Brad collects apples at the surf shop,
Wooden buckets full of the best fruit
You’ve ever had for your shivery bites
Riding the line to a polystyrene full stop.