when you recall the summers
when parents used to take you
to the suburban lake
you remember the sight
of old women on the beach
standing by a plaid blanket
in two-piece beach suits
a burdock leaf on the head
as large as a frog’s eyes
dark sunglasses with green
plastic frames
a fleawort leaf on the nose
blue varicose veins on the calves
skin wrinkled on the knees
stretch marks on the sagging belly
the jelly-like thighs
most of all the double
folds of fat on the back
between bra and hips
you look at yourself in the mirror
before leaving for a Greek island
you smile apologetically
a fifty-five-year-old
Aphrodite
