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On Gilded Shore by David B Coutts
Sunbather flecked shore
towels outnumbering grains of sand
umbrella shades askew
from a strengthening sea breeze
like misguided alien probes.
The air heavy with scents of coconut oil
and myriad mixture of lotions
which cook flesh
a delicious golden brown
like turkeys being offered up
for an antipodean Thanksgiving.
Squeals of childlike laughter
echo from the waters edge
as some warily plunge into Neptune's lair
like they were apartment dwellers
plunging out windows
from a fire consumed building.
Surfers jostle each other
for sections of windblown slop,
father out, more hardy
saddle crystal mares
making their way from ocean to shore
some riders crest the mane
and descend to ride the hollow
with dexterous intent.
Body surfers mill grouped by the shore
that ocean predators
would choose their neighbor over them.
Little respite from a city's choking
menace of populace,
when the fading light of dusk
in weekend's exodus musing
elicits asphalt ribbons of streaming hordes
that are a slithering snake of humanity
in exit from this gilded shore