Even though we had a backykard Pool,
my mother never learned to swim,
always stayed in the shallow end.
Finished with the ironing and laundry
and having done the grocery shopping,
she had her friends over on summer afternoons.
They relaxed on the poolside lounges,
drank tall vodka tonics, munched salty peanuts.
In a few minutes they’d be laughing real loud;
you could hear them all the way inside the house.
When the heat became too much, they’d climb
into the pool, careful not to wet their hair.
Oh, that feels so good they’d say when they got out,
rubbing on another coat of Coppertone,
sipping on a freshened drink.
When the trees caught the sun, they’d slip
on their sandals, dab on some lipstick,
start to walk toward their cars.
Time to get dinner on the table my mom would say,
gathering towels and glasses until it looked
as if no one had been there at all.