3

"Young Men’s Christian Association (Not Just For Young Christian Men!)"

So. Something about my forehead
said, Open Swim 6–8pm. You
all squeezed into that clown–
red swim cap, hogging laps
in and out
of the water, awkward
as a dick bobbing for apples
or dodging a bullet.

So. Sometimes I catch you
wading the kiddie–
pool and remember what big teeth
you have. Still, something
about that bathing suit, camel–
toeing the knee–slice
floor, reminds me of sweet,
sweet rug burn.

So. You make me sick with your deluxe member–
ship, your pruned fingers
and chlorine green hair.
You’d paddle like a dog
and pee in my pool all day
if it weren’t for that darling lifeguard.
Who the fuck said it’s fun to stay
at the YMCA?

by Amelie Florence

Amelie Florence resides on the man–made island
of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, a sandy mass
of a pretty–how–town, all wrapped up
in a big blue bow of ocean, and swarming
with liquored–up meatheads all the summer long.
In all of her unemployed glory, she spends most
of her free time writing poems
to stuff into pretty green bottles
and send off into the froth of our Atlantic ocean.
In her hope of all hopes, free–thinking publishers
will discover these humble treasures
beached upon shorelines across this great nation
and deem them worthy enough to print & distribute,
spreading joy, harsh reality, and existential bliss
to the masses and machines of our hungry generation.
She does lots of other stuff too.