Two lonely lovers on a quiet strand,

Captives of a bogus land, 

Collared by a camera hack

And looking timorously back.

Transposed into a tourist icon

By the power of the mighty Nikon

And its immortalizing lens

Whose tacky feat the couple sends,

Reeking of its cardboard sands,

The sunset trembling in their hands,

The postal ocean in their pulse

The real created by the false,

Whose glossy truth is even marred

(Beyond the confines of the card)

By what all simulated lovers dread:

The giant waves that toward them head,

Now rescued just before the blow 

By the picture's paralyzing show,

Transported here against their will

To live above a window sill—

On the torrid honeymood they planned,

They still are picturesquly tanned 

If not by summers long ago 

Then by the kitchen's neon glow

And, considering what evils lurk

Beyond their window's constant smirk—

That wave, the endless threat of dying—

I admire them for trying

To rise above their sordid fates

Despite outlandish airmail rates,

So precisely did they time it,

To zip off to a drier climate,

Snatching life beyond the wave

From the ocean's postcard grave.