The ashes fly
From their bowl,
The birdies squeaking
In their hole,
The jets that zoom
Aggressively by;
But I could flick them
From the sky.
The beach is tamed,
Picture the past,
Bulldozers dozing
Through sandblast.
The locals crying
For their lost cove ,
Two white men gloating;
In their self-made
treasure trove.