Spring Break Vii - Ocean Flowers

The former blond model pouts and primps Swinging her hips Down the splashing catwalk of shoreline Sand caving to her imagined heels Wheeling to her awaiting Israeli mogul Her shoulders set so far back It’s as if she’s walking backwards Puts herself square Between Him And another thin woman Launches a laugh and offers salted peaches Wraps her skinny arm around The other woman’s string bikini of waist Holds her tight Upright You don’t have to go away She seems to be signaling And a young Salvadoran girl Is curled up at the side of the tide Beached to that surf-beaten sandpaper Only a towel of brown skin beneath her People stepping over her Looking Shrugging Walking on She is homeless of any self-absorption No cell phone bag or jewelry An unclaimed seashell Another time Her brown round body Was plopped down wet and sticky To mounds of dry hot sand Hands stretched above her head Handcuffed to the sun And when she finally stirred and stood She squeezed her boobs like sponges And the grains of sand crumbled from her body Like Cinderella’s gown Shaken loose and fallen to her ankles. The crashing waves Humiliate a man with a beach ball belly Rolls him to shore Legs tossed over his head And also, though much more kindly, Scoots a little boy at his butt Back to his worried mother Who’s holding a towel Yelling from shore at arm’s length Her worst fear. I mean her husband. Muslim women are wrapped in black From toe to throat As they swim and laugh in the ocean And that’s ok too For I smile at one beauty As she emerges And pulls uncomfortably At her taut and soaked nylon dressing She sees me watching her And since it was not for the usual reasons Her lips part As she unleashes a smile across her face Un-shy. Yes, we’re friends. How would these subjects describe me If they were also voyeur poets? They would not I am certain of that Being invisible And old Fashioned Pen in hand Reading a novel.