The sinewy lifeguards strut 'round in their Tevas,
Jantzen-sheathed, brown-skinned barbecue divas.
The elders swim laps while the preachers toss salads
to the strains of capo-necked, four-chord ballads.
The boy in the bath house texts in a panic.
Reception is iffy and his girlfriend's gone manic.
Status updated and passion encrypted,
this wasn't the break-up he'd carefully scripted.
Hungry and tired, the Teen Choir emerges
from bug bites and poker and prayer groups and purges.
They claw at the raft out adrift in the lake,
afraid and alive, with salvation at stake.
(originally published in the Web zine Forty Ounce Bachelors)
