Beaucoup Hot
Gnarly moth-bit beavertail colored 82’Fast Times; The days you can’t quite remember
Aloe smoothes across your cheek with hemp-sewn incense
Left-over imprints of cross-faded irie summers
Sun-kissed hair, blood-shot eyes, shades down
Brown-spot cancer skin; morning glory photo-ops
Balled up pineapple wax still heavy with shells and sand
Muck and dings on Old Rusty—you’re first true friend
Bathed in cornskin backwash; hand-grazed deck
You recall your introduction to beaucoup hot sand
Your first glide into chilled out gnar whitewash
Coughing out aching laughs at howlies and kooks
Paddling out after floatwallers;
Showing them how a real local takes the sea
And makes it all the way
You cherish days when you were crowned nuisance
Days when you slipped up and geeked by mistake
The shoulda days—shoulda worn your rash guard,
Shoulda hit the tubes; shoulda cruised the barrels;
Shoulda stayed seventeen
You wanted The Endless Summer
You got an idolized rendition of an
Undermined Jeff Spicoli
Pitying the next generation land sharks
And townie ocean flop hounds.
In transcontinental view;
Heenalu, highway surfer;
Aloha brah,
Until this time next year—but for now?
Put your shit back in your box
And Rusty back on craigslist
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