Cigarette boats plow hills and valleys in the blue ozark water,
Its trail rippling away at a steady pace.
The August sun spreads its aging light from peak to peak,
as the scintillations and the wind race.
Green lobes struggle to shade the promenade,
Baking in the drying air.
The heat seeps through on rogue sunbeams, striking me on my skin left bare.
I begin to tire of the shimmering sea, this redneck riviera,
I ache for relief with food and drink.
Then, as if to answer, the fireball in the sky begins it’s recession,
A slow and steady march back from the brink.
Without the luminescence, the water grows darker and darker,
And the shadows spaghettify beneath my feet.
Dark is upon me now, with it, a crisp breeze.
Begging for the sun to once again, repeat.
