They lay on blankets worshiping the sun,
These interlopers, followers of style,
Who gather here, pretend, feign seeking fun
And romance. Teasers, poseurs, dandies smile;
Empty faces behind blank eyes. Bulging,
Saline-bloated, barely-covered titties
Beckoning no one; tanned studs indulging
Erotic fantasies, seeking pretties
Who’ll make them feel important for a while.
But momentary pleasure passes fast,
Replaced by empty truth. The wan beguile
Each other. Precious little here will last.
This empty, lonely parade paints a sad
Portrait of a lovely town gone mad.