Sandy was a beach slut

[Doreen Peri]

Sandy was a beach slut.
She worked the entire strip
escorting patrons for tips.

She wore a crimson string bikini,
carried a .22 on her hip
concealed in a little black
waistbag zipped
up with her smokes.

Sandy would take a toke or two
before she took a dip,
poke her toe into the foam daintily
then abandon her insecurity
with a total body plunge.

Sandy was young.
Younger than youth.

I speak the truth when I tell you
she was also quite smart
apart from the fact
that Sandy lacked
the intelligence to be any more
than a beach whore.

Sandy spent seven hours a day
working on her tan. She sat in the sand
without a towel. Sandy was pierced
in precarious places. She had
the faces of two dragons howling
and a sexy mermaid tattooed
on her inner right thigh and
shoulder blade respectively.

Sandy made jewelry, selectively
choosing various gems and beads
at the corner of 7th and Atlantic Streets
every Wednesday at noon.

On Thursdays and Fridays
Sandy rented rooms at the Sandpiper –
mastered the boogie board on Monday morns.

Sandy was born to to live on the shore.
One day she was sure she'd own a large estate
on the Great Inlet Sound. On Saturdays,
Sandy could be found working toward that plan,
relieving every man who entered the door of
Seashell Soozie's of his cash.

This was also the way
she was able to maintain a respectable stash
and dream her dreams while high.

Sandy was a beach slut.
She never knew exactly why.

If you are a man and you visit the shore,
beware of Sandy, the beach whore.
Sandy can wink at you while she lifts
your wallet from your pants.
And pant you will when you watch
Sandy dance.

Take my advice. Don't think twice
about a trip to the ocean this year.

(2006)