Dumpster Diving for Your Love – Canto XIII
In that cult of wellness, let's watch a couple play,
A wife and husband team of perfect shape and face.
Sweet Addy Bigsly, with her royal, regal sway,
A beauty born from an ancient, island place.
Through the wellness hardline, she had carved her way,
Balancing life with an earnest, sincere grace.
Ambitious, fiery, yet grounded still,
She walked a path of personal force and will.
Her husband Henry, of a different vein,
A patriot, ripped, with beard full-grown,
His diet strict, on raw meats he did sustain,
A figure staunch, his convictions shown.
Prone to wonky theories, a prepper’s brain,
Consumed of war where civil strife was sown.
Together, their approaches at odds though love reaped,
In their contrasts, a harmony they keeped.
They stayed at Sandy Palms, sanctuary by the shore,
Once a church and surf shop, now wellness retreat.
Where Jesus surfed in granite, outside the door,
And inside, life was airy, light, and stevia sweet.
A Ninja blender in every room, often three or foor
And still-life, reposing veggies from every wall did greet.
Here, the Bigslys lived with tanned and open arms,
A beacon for those willing to pay for sandy charms.
Come mid-June, the air with salt was dense,
As friends gathered at this haven fair.
Shelly Moomer, Bisty G., Darry Wells, immense
Of personalities, each unique at their self-care.
Dash Agaboa, known for ear muscles intense,
And John Johnson, all invited to the Bigslys' lair.
Together, live-streaming, laughing, selfie-sticks in tow,
Along the crowded beach where ocean tidings flowed.
The day's highlight, a late-night feast prepared,
Boar ribs braised all day in tusk broth, and salty, livered nuts.
The guests, in anticipation, shared
Flexes and humblebrags while waiting to glut.
'Til then, their hours in leisure aired,
Filming dances and hot takes while shaking healthy butts.
Every boring moment captured, shared online,
In digital, drab echoes of the absolute divine.
All these light and playful things, games
And diversion to quiet steady, creeping strain
Of some inner gnawing simply bursting at the frame.
An inability to see and be still, so hard to contain.
The smell of boar, being novel thus it claimed
Their full attention from their efforts to make fame.
Hours duly waiting for a lovely meal to feast,
A test of patience made for any anxious beast.