How can I ever tell you that
in the 21st century,
as innocent as you are,
you will be sexualized.

It started with
one peak under that skim cloth
that made you an icon
Halloween costumes
turned your baby face into
the mask of a "babe"

There are no more dogs
struggling to tear your short shorts
now only mutts scattering clubs
hands dangling onto your belt loops
as if they were in the middle of a hurricane

You, Coppertone Baby, didn't know any better
you were minding your own **** business
vacationing on the beach
when somebody had the audacity to snap a picture
of your ***.
Sweet little girl,
you are us.

You are society's expectations of innocent women
so easily willing to publicize our bodies
printed on billboards
sold in magazines
You put your hair up for vanity
but we tie our hair back to avoid
violent hands
You, Coppertone Baby
will never be known as Cheri,
just like today,
we are branded into the clothes made to hide our bodies
but couldn't do it enough
we are the voiceless

We are the shadows hiding behind anatomy
we are nip-slips
we are on the front cover
of ******* magazines
You grew up not expecting it
merely existing
only knowing the words,
"mommy and daddy."

Welcome, Coppertone Baby,
to the present, not so much a gift
where your first words are now,
"thank you"
the camera is constantly pointed
constantly asking you to sit pretty
you will learn to avoid beaches
and only buy the clothes
that suffocate your skin


I know you were meant to sell sunscreen
but how can I ever buy your product
if I can't even hardly
go outside.

Glistening crowds shuffle in detached cadence
Sweating long necks on a production conveyer
The boardwalk
Pungent saltwater and fried dough coalesce
Ocean meets carnival

Teen screams and seagull shrieks
A multitude of color variation
Red to black
A scent of Coppertone and Noxzema
To ease the pain of the vain and pale

Summer at Happy Hampton Beach
Arcade upon arcade
Clinking bells and whirly sounds
“You're a Winner!”, the mechanical voice screams
Summer fades as do the summer flings, until next year

People don't understand what it means,
how it feels.
When you're laying in the rain,
they just don't understand.
Letting your face soak in the muddy grass,
they don't know how it feels.
Wanting to sink in,
be swallowed whole,
suffocate.
Your body is waiting but your mind is already there.
And when you finally sink,
you're back on the surface,
like Sisyphus,
pushing a big ****** boulder of regret and pain.

You're soakin' in the sun,
I'm sinking in the mud,
you've got Coppertone,
I've got blood.

That warm copper taste,
on the tip of your tongue,
man, it's electrifying.
Holding your breath,
hoping your head pops off.
Yeah, you're losing it,
we're losing it.
Or were we already lost?
I thought you knew me,
I thought I knew you.
You thought we were all the same,
but the sun doesn't touch us all.

You're soakin' in the sun,
I'm sinking in the mud,
you've got Coppertone,
I've got blood.

You're soakin' up the sun,
I'm sinking in the mud,
I'm sinking in the drunk,
I'm sinking in my blood.

the rustling of the leaves in the trees
the audible tremble
of a collective chill
sounds just like the beach

my front porch
a shining metropolitan shore
the sun seems to soften into welcoming;
a different sun
that doesn’t scowl hotly over apartment complexes
and make liquid of asphalt and people

a benevolent warmth
you can only get
out of the city

the air rubs itself in coarse salt
and Coppertone

this glass of water
in my hand
may well be the ocean
the shift in my lap
the waves
a floating leaf
a boat
adrift on cerulean seas

the children laughing and playing here
are the same children
laughing and playing there, too

i am reminded that everything
can be given a new life
if you tell a wild heart
of an ordinary thing

if i just
close my eyes
a beach
is never far away

Love me for who I am
Skim milk skin with
Pink floating in
Coppertone hair and
Trident gum snap
Wax figure hands riddled with blue snake veins
Crushed broken toes and
A metal belly button
Liquified speech
And self important bangs
Long eyed glances and
Sun melted shoulders.
Love me for what I am.
No one will be the wiser

I feel you lurking in the shadows
of my
     mind
and
     heart
and
     soul
A benign
reminder
sends me into orbit
out of space and time...

coppertone coated in salty perspiration...

a soundbite about weather on the other side of the country...

the crunch of pad thai.........

And there you are with
your nose pressed into the trap door
hidden deep inside me

The soft and tan and young and lovely
Makes us all think life we're lovely-
But don't get delusional-
You're not little Miss Sunbeam
Soft and tan and young and lovely...
Soft and tan and young and lovely...

I am from glowing, late night campfires, from Coppertone sunscreen and colorful thread bracelets that rested across my thin wrists.

I am from the winding pavement of Riford Road, but that home isn’t what made me. I was made by the ceaseless games of capture the flag and the smoky haze of fireworks on the 4th of July, the sleepless slumber parties and the heart shaped waffles that followed the next morning.  

I am from the beaches of Lake Michigan and the sand that sparkles like millions of jewels in the sun. With our sticky hands covered in chocolate ice cream and the melodic cadence of waves crashing into shore, erasing our names that we wrote in the sand with our chubby fingers.

I am from ultra competitive poolside games of Uno, and generations of people who either can’t say no or refuse to say yes. From Betsy and the black and white pictures that cover the walls of her home to her age-old family recipe for chocolate chip cookies. From Cullen’s bookshelf that towers over even the tallest of men, each novel packed next to each other like a can of sardines. From Jack, who’s childhood torment turned me into the person I am today, a little bit tougher and a little bit stronger.

I am from the family reunions which are less of a reunion and more of a debate, every one of us desperately trying to speak the last word. From the tough, stone cold stubbornness that each of us possess like a small voice in the back of our minds egging us on.

From mantras of “It could be worse” and the “It will always get betters.”

I am from sugary cinnamon buns on Christmas morning, muddled by the laughter of all my cousins and the cheesy carols playing over the radio.

I'm from the quaint, colorful streets of Charlevoix and the shops full of salt water taffy and their wax paper wrappers that litter the ground. A melting *** of freckled Scots and dark-haired Dutchman, all with the same wide, toothy grin. From the gooey gobs of marshmallow that stain our hands late at night, mixing with a crackling fire and waves slamming against the shore, the stars above us gleaming even brighter than the light radiating from our smiles.

From jumping into ice cold swimming pools in the middle of October, my brother by my side. With our skin freckled with goosebumps and our bones chilled to the core, we splashed and laughed until our bodies were numb and our parents forced us to get out. From the lazy summer afternoons that turned into starry nights. From jumping shoulder to shoulder into the deep rivers of Montana, our laughs suffocated by the frigid water as we ricocheted downwards.

I am from the small cardboard box sitting on the musty floor of our basement, teeming with memories captured at the other end of a  camera. Sepia pictures of my grandmother when she was no more than three years old with her white parka and oil black hair, looking into the lens like she was seeing the entire world. Photographs of my mother at the same age as me, her eyes overflowing with optimism and a smile made of gold, all too similar to my own.

Under your
big nippled
tops.


delicious back

somersault
tumbles,


tickling my

chin as you

would
fly by

over head.


trampoline

spike
bounces

off my
Coppertone
brown

belly ,

as you
would

melt
over me

and my

thighs

applaud....


our passion

was a
three

ring circus
then.


contortionist,

soul grapplers

and sin.


and what
is left

to us
now but
scars

still
unreconciled,


inside

and out,

cuts unkind
that

validate
the ticket
and price

of our

love's admission

we each
paid full ticket
that summer.


to be
even for
the shortest

of times,

under your
big nippled
tops.


the greatest

show on
earth.

Why should it make me sad,
to watch the wind move through the leaves
of an elm tree in late May,
a great green cloud against the bluest sky.

Or to smell the sun heat the asphalt,
and tiny globes of sweat and Coppertone on my skin -
the golden smell of summer,
of knees skinned and healed and skinned again,
of sun-faded flags,
red white and blue dancing mounted on neighbors' porches,
neatly folded and forgotten the rest of the year.

Or to sit in my backyard
in the receding light with what is left of the day,
and listen in utter longing to the katydids
humming their summer incantation.
And wish, that if I could only bottle the sound
as I once did the magic of fireflies,
that repairing loneliness was as easy as opening jar.

(Apologies to T.S. Eliot)*

I
The scorching noonday settles down,
The scent of Coppertone on naked backs.
At the beach.
The lukewarm beer and paper sacks
Of gritty snacks
Packed early when the day began
Are now declined by sunburnt throngs
Who toss the refuse toward the can
But miss,
Delighting eager gulls that plunge
Headlong
To dive in screeching glee for treats
Not caring that the eats
Are full of grunge.
They feast in bliss
On rye and Swiss.  
Soon, hungry, blistered bathers stiffly stand
Now mindful of the quantity of sand
Inside their shorts and thongs.

And then the stiff walk to the pier
To find a shower and cold beer.

Her cheeks golden apples
Voice a hushed whisper
She smells like coconut Coppertone and sunshine
Her cotton candy lipgloss is sticky on my lips
Tanned skin salty from the surf
Smooth and soft like a puppy’s belly
Blonde hair sun-streaked, warm
Stomachs flip-flopping with teen-crush happiness

Gotta go…
Why?
I know.
Hate it though.

So we linger
To watch the surf swallow the sun

under your
big tops.


delicious back

somersault
tumbles,


tickling my

chin as you

would
fly by

over head.


trampoline

spike
bounces

off my
Coppertone
brown

belly ,

as you
would

melt
over me

and my

thighs

applaud....


our passion

was a
three

ring circus
then.


contortionist,

soul grapplers

and sin.


and what
is left

to us
now but
scars

still
unreconciled,


inside

and out,

cuts unkind
that

validate
the ticket
and price

of our

love's admission

we each
paid full ticket
that summer.


to be
even for
the shortest

of times,

under your
big tops.


the greatest

show on
earth.

A red bikini,
in trout green water,
a beauty like the sun,
yet so much hotter.

Texas star ball cap,
in hand, rod and reel,
glistening in Coppertone,
she is the real deal.

Floating stringer,
clipped to hip tied strings,
I'm just hoping,
a shark wants that thing.

She sets the hook,
reels a big trout in,
but I have thoughts
of original sin.

She wades on by,
gives me a smile,
then heads on down,
the tailwater miles.

The sweetest of tears,
Golden girl cries,
As poems and songs,
Cascade from her eye's,
To honeycomb seas,
And coppertone skies.