(Apologies to T.S. Eliot)*

I
The scorching noonday settles down,
The scent of Coppertone on naked backs.
At the beach.
The lukewarm beer and paper sacks
Of gritty snacks
Packed early when the day began
Are now declined by sunburnt throngs
Who toss the refuse toward the can
But miss,
Delighting eager gulls that plunge
Headlong
To dive in screeching glee for treats
Not caring that the eats
Are full of grunge.
They feast in bliss
On rye and Swiss.  
Soon, hungry, blistered bathers stiffly stand
Now mindful of the quantity of sand
Inside their shorts and thongs.

And then the stiff walk to the pier
To find a shower and cold beer.