In the Land of Shag,
I watched a pretty woman dancing
smooth as a glassy ocean.
Her backside boogie walked
cool as a breeze on a humid afternoon.
She was a silver fox.
The man dancing with her was a silver soldier.
He had a permanent suntan.
The deep-cut lines around his mouth and eyes
radiated from a smile
that never left his face.
The woman boogie walked right up to him
and touched his belly,
gently pushing him back.
His eyes glittered for everything her touch implied.
He said something to her,
I couldn’t hear what,
the music was loud.
She laughed
the way a woman does who’s heard it all before
and loves it every time.
The song ended,
and they waited for another.
Later, I saw them holding hands,
walking toward the beach,
like old familiar lovers.
Maybe they were married.
Maybe not.
New romance strikes more often than lightning
in the Land of Shag.