A POEM - WITH HOPE IN ONE HAND AND A BOTTLE IN THE OTHER

WITH HOPE IN ONE HAND AND A BOTTLE IN THE OTHER
There I was, on the beach.
Nipping at some whiskey and taking it easy.
This woman walked up,
looked me over,
maybe checking out my tattoos.
She had on a pair of khaki shorts
and a golf shirt and a pair of tennis shoes.
She was the western world’s patron mother.
After giving me a good long look
she frowned and said to me,
“I hope you have on sunblock.”
I squinted back at her,
sand in my eyes, and said,
“well, I don’t.”