Monday, September 14, 2015


Sharks in the surf,
Dogs' droppings on the beach,
Houses of hosts of guilty holidays
Skirting the sand hills,
Well beyond my reach,
Laughing at me
Hobbling 'round turquoise bays.

A pregnant woman
Smoking on the lawn,
Basking in the sun,
Bourbon on her breath,
Tattoo above one breast,
Jeans custom torn.
What's her quest?
Perhaps a living death.

Drunken man,
Soundscape by The Residents,
Noise at limits
Of taste and decibels,
An erect middle finger his defence,
Plus Anglo-Saxon curses that he yells.

But the sun still shines
On those bright waters,
While cool breezes fan
The hot summer’s days -
Heaven for fortunate sons and daughters -
And twilight brings a splash
Of mauve rose haze.

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