She sits there, my friend, on the edge of the pool.
Still wet from swimming, her black, low back one piece glistening.
Her long, red hair, usually bright and frizzy, is dark, tamed.
I watch her, looking at her mostly bare back, the ridges and valleys,
the mountains that shift and become taut as she moves her arm,
drying her hair with a bright, red towel.
Even after having been in the water, I bet her skin is warm.
Even after the hours of chlorine, I bet her skin is smooth.
Even after all the time in the sun, I do not go into the water.
She turns her head, getting all the strands of her long hair,
and she sees me, in my black jeans and long sleeves, and she smiles,
and I smile back, and know her gaze is fleeting.
I get up, and order another soda from the concession stand, as she
goes to the women’s locker room to change, and I’ll drive her home
and then she’ll go out have a good time, while I look out, only dreaming, watching.