The waves wash up and tickle the sand, pulling in and back out, oh isn’t it grand.
A little girl with an ice cream dripping down her limb, her brother rushes to the writhing water, desperate for a swim.
The retired community baking in pleasure, the last few summers turning their skin into leather.
The shore line so crowded, people packed like sardines in a tin, a few people avoiding the ocean, their Jaws paranoia has them always searching for a fin.
It will never be empty in the months that are warm, the beach will always call, for that human swarm.