by Michael Cluff
"Salt water and hemorrhoids
do not go gentle together,"
Uncle Tim declared
from the couch
in his old man Bermuda shorts
and brown loafers
while Auntie Mary tsked tsked
that the current beach wear
made the girls look too tender and easy.
Cousin Clarence agreed intensely
from behind the fish tank
containing guppies, mollies
and tetras of a neon sort.
Sister Teri and Stepbrother Dennis and I
would not listen at all
but returned too sunburned
later that coiled early vacation day
to tell about the baby
about an eighth or so our ages
found slightly mildewed
on the midway
towards the east long side
of the bay.
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