Golden Boy

You come to my screen door
Bare-chested, bronzed,
Sandy hair surfing your head;

Now, I’m riding a memory pipeline:

-Toasted days popping up,
-Tequila soaked mornings,
-Topless cars, aqua Jello pools,
-Tecate hosting lime and
Threadbare clouds.

…Ban de Soleil dollops and
—-Flip!
—–Flop!

You come to my screen door
Salty; Sand-caked:
“Hey, dude, Surf’s up.”
“Waves don’t wait.”

(The girls always find you.
Under the sun, riding the sea,
Your boogey-board charm
Ogled by Oakley eyes.)

You come to my screen door
I say,
“Summer, you’re too lazy to be much good,
But I’ll keep you ‘round just to look at.”

© Sally Paradise, 2010, All Rights Reserved

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