Photo by George Dagerotip
By the Pool
Gregory Stenta
He looked about nineteen–
give or take. He said he wanted to look older.
He walked around in the sun, squinting,
making lines around his eyes,
said he smoked
because he read, somewhere,
that caused wrinkles.
He sat too long poolside
drinking Coke and eating fruit,
skin burnt red by the sun.
When we made love, he made me
feel like I was eighteen–again, again.
After two days sitting
eating oranges,
he never once
squirted himself in the eye
as he unwrapped the peels
from the globes, roughly,
pushing and tearing with his thumbs.
Gregory Stenta
He looked about nineteen–
give or take. He said he wanted to look older.
He walked around in the sun, squinting,
making lines around his eyes,
said he smoked
because he read, somewhere,
that caused wrinkles.
He sat too long poolside
drinking Coke and eating fruit,
skin burnt red by the sun.
When we made love, he made me
feel like I was eighteen–again, again.
After two days sitting
eating oranges,
he never once
squirted himself in the eye
as he unwrapped the peels
from the globes, roughly,
pushing and tearing with his thumbs.