I am the last one left
to remember those trails
carved by beer-loaded coolers
from car to Lake Michigan shores.

Dragging towels, we sashayed across
drifting sand dunes until
someone called camp.

And then you were gone.
Your trysts were legendary.

No one worried about sunscreen
even as the sun hissed through
the industrial Indiana haze.

Not one of you
died from cancer anyway.