O do not ask
if I am beach body ready.

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

Rub your hands over these pale buttocks,
sand-smoothed by time.

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

Consider these tufts of hair on my back and shoulders
sprouting wildly like sea-grass.

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

And still you ask me
if I am beach body ready?