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.
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