“Swimming Nude on A Pink Beach in Bermuda”
When the sun drops behind the black mangroves across the lane,
a million tree frogs announce the time to move out of the salt
water pool; invite us to abandon our sandals and flip-flops,
approach the pink beach, to hug the remaining light before it is gone.
The purple waves beckon us with blue curls of fingers. Find our cave
with the warm, still pool at its lip, wade in, slide off our shorts,
embrace the water like a lost lover, pulling in its energy,
watching the cuckoos congregate above us on the vine-covered bluff
to see how we do it, how we coax the clear water to accept our whitened
bodies, our limbs that lack the grace of the killifish that explore the bottom
where our toes stir the sand like a kitchen blender.
Is it against some law to spend the night in this paradise? We must
reapply our tight wet skins and crawl like amphibians  onto the dry sand,
wade under the burgeoning canopy of frogs and birds to our own private nest above the hotel pool.
 Whether John Dorroh taught any high school science is debatable; however, he managed to show up at 6:45 every morning for a couple of decades with at least two lesson plans in his belongings. His poetry has appeared in Dime Show Review, Ingigent Press, Suisun Valley Review, Eunoia Review, Sick Lit, and others. He also enjoys crafting short fiction and the occasional rant.