On balconies overlooking beach sands
iced drinks rest on banisters
or in the hands of drinkers
who kiss the rim and take a sip
just as soon as they’re aware
that they are hot again

Two drinkers, each in turn,
compare the colors of their drinks
to that of the surrounding ocean waters
and wonder,
does sea life grow tired of living in blueberry daiquiri?

“But don’t,” she says, “tire your faculties with questions of insignificance”
and, to add firm closure to her remark,
slams her drink down with a thud
an action humorously at odds with the softness of her voice

And as she reclines there tanning nude,
your eyes get fixed on the evolution of waves
the way the water gets bit
at some point on its journey
and subsequently develops rabies
and foams aggressively on the sands