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.