B. A. MARKUS
Photo Credit: Donna Shvil
It was a sunny day but she wasn’t dressed for it. She said she was making art with her feet. Digging holes all over the beach on the south side by the stairs. And she wasn’t alone. No, she had a whole flock of ladies with her. All clucking like hens about making those ugly holes and actually mad at me for not joining in. Like I was some kind of traitor. I told her in my opinion it wasn’t art they were making. It was some kind of crazy menopausal mess. Just hormones.
She didn’t like that. She said they were using the sand and their feet to make a giant vagina or some such thing. She said they were trying to get the attention of the Prime Minister. Make him protect the oceans. From the oil tankers and pipelines. And from other opportunities that build the economy and give people jobs.
But I’ll tell you this, just looking at that thing made me sick to my stomach. Everyone knows you can’t make anything with your feet. A bunch of old ladies can’t make art. And I can tell you one thing for sure, the kind of people who make giant sculptures of vaginas out of sand with their feet are exactly the kind of people the Prime Minister is never going to listen to. Imagine thinking anybody would care what old women like us have to say.