The guide

 He was long in the tooth
losing hair
but the smile as wide as cheeks allow
the bus runs long into the bays and tides

laughing can be heard from the crowd of the guide
His long speeches mystical soup
every day the same rehearsed loop
an ounce of their questions glitter in the bag

after each passing year that eye bags and cheek flab
inevitably begins to sag like prunes
The heart keeps it together though
the voice box too

as the guide opens our eyes
to each mile of the sea's spicy southern stew
between the gulf and atlantic pools
estuaries fill and empty with ocean gruel