Seaweed

The three-year old treads through water,
for him the seaweed and fish don't matter,
he tastes the salt of the ocean,
feels the Atlantic breeze is an omen,
a harbinger of things he cannot yet articulate,
and emotions he cannot facilitate,
except by a capacity,
to establish the veracity,
of a claim his dad has made,
that mommy needs to stay in the shade,
because she is afraid to wade,
through seaweed that makes her toes curl,
oh, she is such a girl.