Hot
Hot sand
Burning the soles of our feet
as we race toward the water
and rapid relief

The mycellium keep growing under the sand
spawning mushroom umbrellas of limited colours
and inedible ingredients
under a tourist sun

The summer pants people are strolling along the water's edge
Long black slacks
rolled up to the knees
Tepid feet in shallow mirrors
escaping from the lack of summer breeze

Mamals of many hues and sizes
cavorting in the waters
White becomes red
Red becomes angry
buttered in a sea of white cream
as the darker browns are basting on the beach
like well done crispy birds
stinking of sun tan oil and cigarette smoke
in a time when sun screen is just a glint
in some chemist's eye

Dads sip their beer with steaming sun glasses
from aluminium lawn chairs
Looking at the latest bathing beauty
to trespass upom their lines of vision
while moms dip in coolers and picnic baskets
to satiate the young ones whose currency has become
sand dollars and sea glass

Young treasure seekers who scour the places
where the ocean meets the land
looking for the small creatures who dwell
among the seaweed and litter
for these are the days of empty chip bags, old diapers,
beer bottles and hermit crabs in the summer of 59