What is it about summertime?

What is it about summer time and whoopee…

pies

cicadas, humidity, traffic, going to the beach, hauling stuff to protect you from the sun

even as you adjust your suit and Ray Bans, apply SPF 100,

suck in your gut while trying to walk like a man in flip flops and

admiring bobbing babes in bikinis that you aren’t with nor is there

a chance in hell you will be even as you try to imagine what part of Brazil they had waxed.

Then there’s inevitable afternoon thunderstorms, hot convertibles,

sand in your bottom and between your toes stuck to the sunscreen

everything….everything…. chafed, not exfoliated, because

we’re men at the beach not a spa, damnit;

a quick change in the back seat of the car, refreshed, readjusted,

time for some cold beers, burgers and crispy fries,

ebb tide and games of bocce on the hard pack

for those who screwed up their knees and backs at the beginning of the season

while carrying on like 18 year old jocks on ESPN,

and begrudged consideration with ever lingering glances at attentive fuller figures

who look better by the can

patiently silhouetted against the setting sun sippin’ their Diet Cokes.