Pool Day

You are under a parasol. It is orange. The deck chairs are orange. The sky is bedsheet blue, perfectly ironed, not a crease in it. The pool is framed by concrete. Wet feet slap against it like fish. There is a diving board. Heavenly bodies stretch upwards, disappear, and reemerge in a sheen of chlorine perfume. The FM station is delivering. The palm trees are unmoving. Your swimmers are forgiving. This is where you are when you close your eyes. Never mind that when you open them you are laid flat on a towel on the patio by a half-inflated kiddy pool.