Yes, yes, yes!
Sat facing away from the sun
an old man wipes years from his eyes
drawn over with cataract like milky bath water
he strains to see the outline of motion
where are all the old men? He thinks
once so barrel chested and neatly trimmed
with mustaches and shiny hair like Cover Girl teens
where are all the eighties queers who painted beaches
with tight abs and tiny shorts in tropical shades?
now half empty, the beach longs for color
only rotund women with bristly chins
unkempt hair chopped without thought
some with children or children’s children
placing sensible shades and thick UV factor 50
on slow-moving parts of themselves
in previous years you could
reach out and paint a rainbow
in their courage of being twenty
though lesbians and gay men do not
always a palate make
such contrasts in their expression
these women without restraint
mopping the brows…
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