POM: April 12
As a teen I used to complain about having to dragged off every weekend to our family’s cabin. Silly me. How many sixteen old girls would have loved having a community pool to hang out once we were done waterskiing? No wonder my parents were a tad irked with my complaints at times. Aah–sixteen year old girls with a pool to themselves (mostly) and hoping a cute boy or two (we actually needed three) would chance by and liven up our weekend. This poem is so about our baby oil tan days.
"The turquoise pool rose up to meet us, its slide a silver afterthought down which we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles. We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy..."