THEY are coming to Cape Cod with airy dreams,
as schools of herring once clogged our streams.

Boston, New York, Rhode Island; see the different plate,
lots of time to study them, as jammed in line we wait.

They search in vain for the quaint little town,
which their forebears bought, then tore down.

They loved the ambiance, each salty breeze,
but enjoyed it more fully from a condo's ease.

Twixt urban and suburban, the line of demarcation,
steadily eroded, with every plush summer vacation.

Natives once mended nets to prepare for the run,
but now, we fleece tourists, blinded by the sun.

"Why your price so high, your service so slow?'
We smile, spread our hands; "We think it's Joe"!