Bright triangles of spandex peer
across fluorescent tiled floors, knowing
I have no choice. My children demand it.
Frolicking in the tepid pools
tires us out, sleep comes easily
under skin still burning from the sun.
I buy one that covers the scars,
stretch marks, soft white flesh
that used to be taut, tan, stretched
over boney hips and flat knees,
beckoning the boys from other boats,
turning heads just enough to get us
here in the first place.
I was just to the point where I was going to cheat and use a poem I wrote earlier in the semester, when a friend posted on facebook about swimsuit shopping. I went myself earlier this week - a dreadful errand to say the least.
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