PHILIP BYRNE

SUNSTROKE

Sun-worshippers, flipper-flabby, divine wisdom
from potboilers beneath pitched umbrellas.

A motley crew, potbellied, waddle in the wash.
Nothing teeters in their hairy-legged world.

Brazen gulls squawk & scoop scraps, Chips
Ahoy. A naked baby squeals on a hip.

I gawk at the flight of nipple-ballooned bikinis,
the chase, cacophony & kick-splashes

in the ebb & spray, slump to the clammy sand.
A breeze scales my teeny bony back,

kickstarts my heart. From my Adam’s apple,
a zest broils, & as I grip the inflatable,

clear-plastic ball between my hands,
I swear it said, “Kiss me, you fool!”

Philip Byrne is a Dublin-born retired teacher living in Westchester, New York pursuing his dream of letting life catch up to him and attempting to capture moments of memory and observation in his poetry.