At Tropicola Beach Club
this place must have existed.
in another time and in another place.
coconut oil melting in the sun.
the vivid blue of the water.
the blinding white of staff on bended knee.
languid hands on frozen drinks.
the sizzle of shellfish over wood fire.
laughter and splash and chatter.
a paradise against the sea.
it was just another mansion.
–––––––– tropicola is what it felt like.