A Highly Scientific Anthropological Study Using Mostly Observational Methodologies Conducted from a Beach Bar Stool in Turks & Caicos Presented in Eighty Lines of Free Verse.
That super strappy one-piece
With the cutouts crisscrossing each side
And a geometry defying centerpiece
Showcasing your belly button ring.
You problem solver you.
It must have come with an instruction manual
Titled ‘Get the Gigi Hadid Look.’
How did you ever get into that thing?
You must be here on a yoga retreat.
Your bikini is white.
Do you know what happens
When white becomes wet?
I’m going to order another drink
To toast the lesson you’re about to learn.
You must be a honeymooner.
You there, in the tankini.
Can we be friends?
I like your practicality.
The flamingo print says “Fun in the sun!”
While the high-cut waist counters with
“Most of the time.”
You must be Canadian.
There’s a retro femininity
To the deep V
A thong on top instead of on bottom.
Its micro floral print says
“I’m more fun than Audrey Hepburn”
But its low cut hips and belted waist
Makes you feel classier than
The string bikini three towels down.
You bought that at Anthropologie, didn’t you?
I bet when you’re done
Jet skiing and
Doing lunges up and down the beach
Right in front of me while
I wolf down my cracked conch
And add more salt to the French fries,
You’ll still order a beer later.
Listen, I forget to shave my bikini line too
But the skirted bottom of that one-piece
Has to go. I know you’re self-conscious
So I won’t mention it.
But it’s going to be really uncomfortable
When those ruffles chafe
And remain a wet reminder
All day long that every body
Is a beach body.
Did you forget your top?
Look, I have laundry days too
But where else is the bartender
Supposed to gaze
When you bring those things in here?
You must be from Europe.
Are you going to get that thing wet?
I’d recommend you keep to the pool
So those metal rivets won’t rust
And a wave won’t knock that one-shouldered
Out of alignment.
If a bead comes loose from that intricate
Display sewn across your crotch
The pool attendant can find it for you,
So you that you don’t have to get your hair wet.
You must be an Instagram queen.
Permanently encrusted sand
Is your swimsuit red or tan?
I think a pattern once thrived there
Vaguely reminiscent of the honeycomb cowfish
I saw out on the reef yesterday.
The nylon-spandex sags
Lamenting its elasticity
But you bemoan nothing. You carry on
Regardless of faded colors.
You must live here.
– – –
What does your swimsuit say about you?
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