Apricots are suede loafers, and
black plums are cordovan weejuns,
both of which are indications that
Summer, however foggy it may be
in this tiny beach town, is upon us.
The tourists, in their brightly colored
shorts and aggressive t-shirts
advertising everything they own
and everywhere they’ve been,
descend to the kelp-strewn beach
and set up their tents, their umbrellas,
and their coolers filled with light beer
and candy flavored malt liquor. The
locals grumblingly take the tourists’
money. It is a grudging annual
symbiosis, but the apricots are
delicious, and my suede loafers are
safe from the flip flop wearing hoards.
—Todd Young
