he slow jogs on the white sand
parody of a boxer
dose little dance steps as if to avoid blows
the sweat from the fierce sun scatters like rain as he doges
side to side
his hands held at his chest
head held at low angle
were that he was a prize fighter
his life is the beach
with its own world that never sleeps
from lovers entwined in sand at three am
to the devoted worshippers following the sun
in her daily trek across the unblemished roof of the world
he touches pavement as dawn touches sky
and spends his day dancing the waves of sand
the tourists stop and stare
the natives frown
at night he sits under the
monotony noise of an antique fan
its fast ticking is soothing
in his aquamarine blue room
a chicken *** pie and the game on transistor radio
aint life grand he thinks to himself
he's one of the lucky ones
he is complete in his little world
the beach and its teeming life is his world
and he's happy there
i see him sunburned to a golden brown
dance jogging and boxing the air
unburdened by the weight of the world
happy in his blissful unawares
under the watchful gaze of miami beach highrises
to live with even a fraction of his inner peace
one would live a better life