June Pier Ave Hermosa Beach

Salmon colored skin, extra sensitive, old '03 40 plus sunscreen sits atop dresser, back home drunken ex-surfers smell up Hennesey’s and Sharkey’s well tanned, dirty blond, wasted teeth, flip high school dropouts here from the city, try to unleash their angst, Kary-okie night; have to sing louder than Sportscenter on 10 screens the floor sticks with the sap of [spilled]hard drinks and lost mores’ tables are leaned on, light dims, hard to hear, a man walks out, down the pier, to the end drinks in the blackness waves lap at the legs of the walk, the moon laughs then calls the prophetic, first week of summer.