In the pure surf, her pale feet are seen
Slipping below. Warmth cascades around:
Against sirocco, sunglasses shield you from
Discerning glances alone. So much so,
That the men parade past, quite unknowing,
Themselves half-cut, and also wearing sunglasses –
They saunter by as perfectly as years –
Before you know, it’s time to go, so soon!
You had hoped to watch them longer, languorous…
That flush now passing, you know you’ll miss that sight.
And soon you ought to shawl yourself, beach towel
Sole comfort as the lights roll darkening back
Chill as the air: cool as the waves, who kiss
The pale feet of your forgotten, drowning daughter.
The alternative title for this was going to be “Bad Parenting on Holiday” but I thought that would ruin it, a bit.