The Poem Game
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Topless Beach, Normandy
The stones should hurt but don't. The tide's been rough
enough with them to smooth them out. I drop
my sandals by a stylish group of top-
less 40s and their kids and turn off tourist tough.
I shake my towel over the rocks, sit down
and lose my dress, exposing a giraffe-
print two-piece number that I bought in town.
I used my card to dodge exchange-rate math.
The act would change if you were here with me,
it'd be a joke, like flashing for a beer,
or it would be a tease if he were here,
more sexual. Instead, I can just be.
With eyes on the horizon line, I reach
behind me, squeeze the clasp. My back is bare
in a flash—then shoulders, sides, and chest. Breasts stare
at the other misshapen spheres along the beach.
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