Beach Town

Beaches canvassed with baking humans,
The aroma of coconut swallows the
Stench of decay and death.

She told me once that she took
War and Peace to the beach.
I don’t know what to say to this-
So I say nothing at all

The tourists are all complaining
Of hangovers today as I mix
Their bloody marys-
The same color as their rotting skin

She holds a clamshell and talks
About Botticelli to an old pale man
Who listens while eyeing the ball- game,
Disinterested in either Botticelli or the Braves-
Maybe both?


The tourists are now drunk-
Dancing to old music that nobody
Listens to anymore-
They are clumsy and red faced
Dancing in a circle like children
At play, unable to control their budding limbs.


In the evening we sit on the deck
And listen to Van Morrison-
Her head on my lap, not saying a word,
While we gaze longingly at the full, full moon.