• SKINS
    UC Poika


    I stand upon the shoreline breezes touching
    my skin, a glaring white hide, out in the sun,
    barefoot finding the sand very damp and cool
    but my hands not knowing what should be done by them
    they find my hair what’s left of it there not much
    they find my thighs naked and sweat dried then under
    my arms. . . I run into the water fooling
    no one as they break the surface, a stratagem
    meant more for swimming than for a silly slap
    like dolphin flippers thrashing beads ashore. . .
    I dive a coot with a golden eye in a trapper’s
    sights worthlessly seen by her in scoring
    pelts taken to market despite the skinny-dippers
    filling themselves—more than others—in