The turquoise waves lap at the shore like artificially-flavored tropical punch
As their salty scent wafts on the sloppy wet breeze,
Clinging to my red burnt skin like a second layer of sweat.
The sand is black and gritty like ash,
The sun is a ball of hot happy light,
Yellow as the yoke of a hard-boiled egg.
Try as I might, I can’t thwart the grin that tugs at the corner of my mouth.