the sea is calm and flat,
the fishes nibble at your feet,
the water is clear and cool,
in summer this goes down a treat,
no chaos and no cars here,
just the babble of the local dialect,
some people bring half their kitchen,
others opt for just a bikini,
as the temperature sores,
and the beach fills up,
I get the urge to run,
far away from the prying eyes,
one day my love was bitten by a fish,
now jelly fish keep her out of the sea,
big and transparent and divine,
that got so close to me.
and being the whitest man on the beach,
is not really much fun,
some men spend thousands on beauty,
I laugh in their perfect faces,
or hide from the mass of oiled muscle,
and from the clean-shaven, perfect heads,
well I prefer the cool of the mountain,
with a beer and a steak instead.

©D.Hobson August 2013