Before countless tints of sunrise flame,
the sea entrances like an emerald plain.
An Islamic poet,
in a white and gold Hijab,
glides across the sand,
sparking fantasies of a more brilliant paradise;
I barely notice the beach volley ball girls,
in lingerie fit for a partner swapping foray.
Christian extremist choirs stalk bikini top littered sand,
berating audacious sinners, who demand to be tanned,
obviously they’re all harlots, with wild orgies planned.
I stroll along the beach pondering social conventions,
voyeurs, exhibitionists, hypocrites and evil intentions.
In this place bare flesh is as familiar
as the cries of the gulls,
as neutral as the driest medical dictionary.
By midday, attention mainlining models
are on the road to a lobster’s death;
the epitome of elegance,
in precious metal embroidered cloaks,
are destined for Vitamin D deficiency;
a puritanical Christian choir girl
has been raped “for revealing her thighs;”
and an artist murdered,
for declaring nudity is natural.