I have to thank

the pretty blond woman

waiting next to me

at the car wash,

her hair un-ironically



and sprayed into place,

for taking me back

to a hot summer day

of Marco Polo

in a shimmering aqua pool

in the suburbs.

Of swimming races

and underwater tea parties.

Of lying face down, shivering,

in a wet swimsuit on the warm cement

with the sun on my back.

Of the scent of chlorine

and bubble gum lip gloss.

Of roller skating and ding-dong ditching.

Of the hot pink curling iron

that never quite managed

to bring my long straight hair

to wavy, feathered perfection.