(I hope a modern poem. But I don't know. First attempt.)
There is a beautiful breeze by the sea,
but the wind will not connect you to the
Wi-Fi you so desperately seek, holding
the latest phone up in the air, as though
the sun will connect you to that guy you lust.
Nah. Just salt, sea, and seasonal beauty...
A canape load of sea crustaceans too, waltzing around your stilllettos, like
lost PTSD veterans. Walking must be difficult.
The grains of sand pilfer your balance,
and you tumble to the wet **** of the
ocean, which has been piling up for days
waiting for such a person to show up.
The calm of the ocean. The chuckling rage
of the mighty gulls. The clattering of those
**** ***** again. One has just clipped onto
your long heel.
Frustration. Anxiety. Regret. Maybe you should
not drink that home made crap your brother
made. Especially not on the beach... At night.
Alone. And where the hell were your friends?
The wind is whistling now. Spelling a
rhythm in the air which your deaf ears
will never hear. A music which has been
around long before you were a *****
floating around in misery, and will be here
long after your grave has disappeared
into the ages.
A song of the sea.
But all you hear are clattering noises,
disrupting your lesser IQ thoughts,
and that main concern that hopefully
after last night, you are not pregnant.
