Poet Sandals

I sat by the ocean this morning, wondering how much to pay for the Yucatan sandals. Made right here, the guy said. I could sell you recycled plastic, like those Keens of yours.
I'd call the ocean happy, cat-happy, the way it leaps at the rocks on the Caribbean side of this island, Mujeres. The other side, where I beached yesterday with my sisters, stays calm, bucket-of-beer calm.
I sat by the ocean, admiring the image of my left foot in the sandal I'd tried on. He'd come down to 35 dollars; I'd come up to 20.
The waves kept coming.