To the Ocean in Summer
The barely dressed now come to worship you:
ungainly flesh squeezed into scraps of red,
hot pink, and purple speckling your cool blue
like live confetti grossly overfed.
The riotous, unruly bodies flail
against your flawless choreography
of air and water, and their voices wail
as if to join your song, but out of key.
Their adoration seasonal but real,
the spandex-clad and bulging-bellied masses
attend upon you with immodest zeal
until the fevered tryst of summer passes.
And you indulge the self-indulgent crowd,
your dazzle and your dignity unbowed.