From further up the beach they looked like stranded whales.

Closer, I could see their northern pallor’s pinking to the sun.

Quivering, hairy bellies and ripe bosoms bursting bikinis.

The scent of cheap sun blocks soothing consciences.

They almost sizzle, basking in the sun’s violent smile.

Hot dogs on concession rollers, waiting for bun coffins.

Who cares about such things, we are on a winter holiday.

Forget fog, rain, ice, snow and freezing wind.

 

 

David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, January, 1997