Vicariously Yours Indulgent, Masturbatory, Escapism for your Repressed Wanderlust

Beach Bumming 

Without a Good Book

Beneath 3 breeds of palm trees
Sand, towel, ants and breeze
I prostrate myself for want of excitement.
Thoughts abound
Like British vacationers on Khao San Road:
        Raw, collared, tattooed, pedigreed,
        inebriated, window-shopping, mangy, mute.
What if I envision the consequences of Alex and my sudden nudity:
Parts flapping haphazardly, flippant
We skip and flop
Some staring
Mothers rushing to shield their children’s eyes,
Who struggle against their wicked censorship.
Shark Attack? I ponder, anxious for an elevated heart rate
Calamity
Anything that would alarm
these subdued tourists, couples, families…
Quiet, boring me with their relaxing and comfortable do-nothingness malaise.
Even the slack jawed dogs look annoyed;
They relate.
We share a glance.
I open Billy Collins – witty, poignant-every-day-ness, uneventful
It captures the mood precisely
As if this was his poem, “Listless in Koh Phangan”.
Then, serendipity acts,
A storm rumbles, “hello” just on the horizon
(How polite to alert us to her arrival)
Vegetation attempts flight, kids mimic leaves
Restaurants batten down the hatches.
As I bound for cover I catch the Dog’s eye,
Gleaming with mischief
Just before he leaps
Greeting the wind with a chomp and a twist
And somewhere a shark hunts bathers in a warm lagoon.