O do not ask
if I am beach body ready.

Observe how the folds
of my stomach ripple
like the wind-pulled waves.

Feel these pale buttocks,
smoothed by the sand-grains
of time.

Note these milk-white limbs,
useless and stranded,
washed up whalebones.

Consider the tufts of hair
which sprout on my shoulders
like sea-grass.

And listen to the lapping
of my socks
at the shores of my sandals.

And you ask me
if I am beach body ready?