Girl, Seventeen, American

Laying by the pool,

the hot cedar deck

floats heat waves

up through my beach towel

and I wonder

how long

until I’m medium-rare.

I know it’s silly

to see how long

I can lay still

before I get

that achy feeling in my stomach

that’s the human equivalent

of the turkey button popping up.

But I discovered something.

All the feminism

and self esteem in the world

never entirely erases

the images

of sleek, bronzed goddesses

slipping into crystal waters.

I may prefer to be intellectual,

but even intellectuals see Cosmo

in the grocery store checkout line.