SUMMER COUNTRY CLUB

Cordial bottle dripping with sweat,
my fingers print marks every time I thirst.
Easy way to tell time: watch the liquid sink
and the bottle doesn’t stay cool for long.

Radio plays that bubblegum song
that cherry wine tune, every melody sounds the same.
There’s a boy precariously balancing himself
on a beach ball in the pool. Even the smallest splash
makes the biggest fuss. Better call the lifeguard.

Time is a single thread twisting between my hands.
Earphone cords, relentlessly coiling together.
I can’t untangle my hands, untangle myself
from this endless loophole of sun and skin.

Blue seems to spread everywhere.
Ice cubes, pool water, ditzy sky, fresh
nail polish that tastes nothing like the Virgin Seas.

Loud yellow, blinding light, buzzing bees
infusing the air with the sickening sweet scent
of daisies, of the hysterically in-your-face
sunflowers that grow by the backyard.
(Why couldn’t they stay in the backyard.)

Days in the sun can feel like decades,
and minutes can feel like days. See my tan line?
How long has it been?
Easy way to check the time: take a quick peek
underneath those beach-shorts. How much have you changed?

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