Sitting between sand and sun
Pulled apart by sky
Strung together by ocean

Living life like a beach bum
Sippin on gold Jamaican rum
The sun baked my skin ruddy-brown

Eyes squint mischievously around
The White Sands Beach Hotel!
Daiquiris, red stripe, and jolly banter

Tony the bar boomer, concocts new ways to get us high
On a hazel deck chair I lie
Rasta-men sing Birds on a Wire

The smell of Marley dreadlocks loom the air
A Jamaican fruit seller hovers the sun
Haggles over prices with country flair

The silhouette shades us like a cabana
Smiling it asks us,
“Banana, papaya, marijuana?”