Drunks On The Beach (1980)

They tilt and todder
over seaweed clumps
'n' broken shells.
"Mother of whores,"
snarls the tall one,
kicking back a wave;
sea birds shit on them.
The short one finds
a beached loggerhead,
long dead and half-buried
in the sand.
"My turn," he bawled,
and eloquently spat
on all the women
he had known.
They belch and caterwaul
the tide, two drunks on the beach,
two wobbly wonders
the sea has room for:
She floats their driftglass
eyes away, and off they go,
two true sons, their curses
lost on the surf,
their tiny fists beating the wind.