Now the beautiful boys ...

Now the beautiful boys are no longer.
A man in a plastic orange cloak has piled empty soft drinks cans
on a black sheet. Sand whirls,
carried on the wind’s wings.
The gray of the sea dissipates in the mist,
a ketchup-stain-like sun is low on the horizon.

Gulls cry somewhere in the milky skies.

Where have you gone to, knights of gymnasiums?
Your sweat smelled of tanning lotions and algæ,
your bronzed lithe bodies sprinkled
with tinsel jewel droplets.
It was nice to feel the wet fleece
while I petted your heads.

Two reed umbrellas need repairing,
holes gape inquisitively up.
The country I was born in is being torn apart,
civil war has swallowed
its first swallows
of a promised spring of freedom.

The deserted beach is so indifferent,
so forlorn,
so safe.

Bygone is the tornado bunch of carnival in-hoppers;
the tired host takes his shot of scotch
before starting to wipe the mess up.

Up you fly,
silken kite of persistence,
crutch of ersatz-hope.
Here comes Lady Godiva on a mule.

– Which part is nude bathing? – asks she.
Crests of the waves arrive from afar
to scatter on the Checkpoint Neptune.
La playa esta abandonada.
The beautiful boys are no longer.


(19.12.1991)