Ah, the joys of a summer beach, a sunburnt land of bliss,
Where every grain of scorching sand clings fondly to your feet.
Your perfect spot is someone else’s, too—what are the odds?
Packed like sardines, in baking heat, a sweaty, salty fleet.
The children scream with glee or rage, a soundtrack for the day,
As ice cream melts and dribbles down, in sticky, sweet decay.
Umbrellas bloom like mushrooms wide, in garish, gaudy rows,
While waves crash in, ignoring bounds, to soak your brand-new clothes.
Don’t forget the local wildlife, so charming from afar,
Seagulls poised to steal your lunch, these pirates of the tar.
And what’s that brushing ‘gainst your leg? You hope it’s just some weed…
Though thoughts of sharks do cross your mind, increasing your heart’s speed.
Sunscreen application’s quite the art, it’s patchy at its best.
Miss a spot and sure enough, you’re sunburned like the rest.
And sand, oh sand! It finds a way in places left unspoken,
The souvenir that clings despite the promises you’ve broken.
Yet as you leave, with tangled hair and skin a shade too red,
Despite the burns, the sand, the chaos, you dream of your soft bed.
For every curse the beach has cast, by sunset’s golden light,
You’re planning your return, forget the woes—next Saturday sounds right!
