Classic Poem

first draft--Tuesday, 3:00 p.m., New Smyrna:

The mermaids are swinging
their butt-thonged bottoms
beach to beach,
(do I dare to eat a peach? Ha!)
they can't sense the horror
of the water, the sun,
the leering boys with hard-ons
(jejune.... Òleering priapistic boysÓ sounds more poetic)
who swagger like strangers
with guns, blasting music into the sun,
(Camus reference may be too oblique)
striking poses worthy of Polyclitus.
(remember to look at Praxiteles, just for comparison's sake)

A group of well-oiled girls (yes!)
toss a ball over the net,
a network of tan limbs
and plump suburban insouciance
(connect this somehow to the Marquis de Sade)
thoroughly unaware of the forces
bubbling quietly under my umbrella.
(Òchthonian forcesÓ may be more to the point)