Seaside Beauties

It’s a cold, wet July day.

Deckchairs are lined up

At the end of the pier.

From behind their umbrellas

And transparent plastic macs,

Holidaymakers stare

At a bevy of beauties in bathing suits

With carefully coiffured hair,

Counting goosebumps

On mottled arms and legs.

The resident comic and compère

Steps up to the makeshift stage,

Takes the microphone and clears his throat,

To announce the beauty queen for the day.

Seaside Beauties

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