Asentamientos Pinamar, Argentine

Across the Damp Pampas we reach the edge,
the whipped Atlantic lifts its southern face.
Grey blue, sand filled, it surges beyond
whale-backed dunes. It crests foam frothed,
distant from the shanties of Buenos Aires.

Here the prosperous promenade, well oiled
they adore the sun, worship each other.
In rented pods they squander days,
lounging, checking the dollar’s progress and
their toned, honed mistresses. As the sun tumbles
they waft back to the alarmed villas, all windows
barred, to quaff high-altitude Malbec.
Below pungent pine and eucalyptus,
emerald parrots bicker.