By Rosalyn H. Marhatta
Sharks sit under beach umbrellas,
on chaise longues,
atop white sand castles
that float into mounds of ocean.
Sharks adjust their sunglasses,
prescription of course,
so they can see bikini bottoms
their sauce for cellulite hips
so juicy to the tooth.
They flex their biceps,
zigzag their tails to the rhythm
of the accordion-playing conch shell.
Then they contort their tails,
shake their fins,
watch waves of seawater
to be dinner.
– refers from the word bikini in the poem NaCL by Rose Auslander