I lay stoned on the beach
curling
my
toes
in the sand,
my hands shadow
over my face,
as the lapping sea's sound
flowed by old toothless fishermen
playing dominoes over the only shaded ground.
I watched an ant
climbing grains,
and thought how the soft yellow
that surrounded my soft trance
must have seemed endless,
and the soft
ruffle of the waves like a roaring bellow
for his
scuttling legs and faceless head.
I watched the women's bodies,
the firm
flabby
all salty and wet,
bikinis hiding secrets
I desperately wanted to learn
and keep just for myself,
a cheap pleasure
left denied
as I lay
aroused in stoned unrest.
And then a boat shored up.
Four fishermen
dropped
a
shark
in the shallows
and took to it with a blade.
Off with its head to
retrieve the hook,
fade red into blue
like smoke exhaling out,
a clean slice from headless neck
to already fin-less stub.
In less than five minutes
they left,
and their bloody mess
stirred up all the woman,
who I had
already mentally undressed.