Telescope Pictures

August 12, 1992|By Barbara M. Simon

Lying on the beach,

they catch you eyeing

up the wild young things.

They're outrageous in red,

awesome in blue, both more

and less than you recall

from your glory days. How

high their breasts; how

brief the bikinis; how

quickly the flash of youth --

the days when you were

the bronzed boy prowling

the beach, riding the surf,

your stomach flat as last

night's beer, your shoulders

the wide horizon that sweet

girls longed for. Today,

you plop back on your elbows,

behind the mirrorshades hiding

eyes that have seen not much,

wrinkles revealing years

that slid away the way

the ocean's sand slides

down your stomach. All

that remains of yesterday --

nothing bitter; nothing sweet --

just an image in a plastic

pyramid where once you were,

but are no more.

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