Bob Bradshaw Sacrifice I wave to the tourists with my free hand. Bye! they shout as they pack into their cars with their children and their cameras. They have lives to lead and kids to put through school. I have a sea looming over me. It was an accident that I happened by this spigot. Plugging a dike with my finger wasn't a career move. The town fathers shake their heads. "What about your neighbors below? Would you have a town five hundred years old wash away? "Everyone makes sacrifices," they say. I dream of removing my finger, of starting again. But there is satisfaction in seeing people in the markets below, the cargo ships anchored at the docks. Still, it isn't the same as walking a girl with a Spanish accent and an eager voice home

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