I sit on

the pavement, legs crossed.

Tinted plastic

shielding me from

the sun and wandering eyes. 

Only hours before,

artificial waves slapped

against my thighs, 

and washed my skin in

stinging, bleached

California blues.

My lips are puckered 

from sun kissed days spent

flipping side to side. 

Fleshy whites flash from

beneath the hems of my

shorts and betray my 

true colors. 

The pages of last month’s 

tabloid rubbed off

like pastry sheets

in my hands when I 

retrieved it from the bottom

of the pool, but I'm 

still trying to read it even now.

I devote months

to this sedated state,

reeling from overexposure

and choking on smoke

from someone

else's Marlboros. 

Hallowed out underneath

this glaring OPEN sign, I

think to myself

next summer will be better.