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 Summer I Was Sixteen
—Geraldine Connolly
"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..."
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Pam Webb 