the unopened book

from my orange chair,
settled into sand, just far enough
for the waves
not to over take me,
for the breeze to envelope my
pinked skin,
I watch
as the bathers dip a pale toe
or leg into the sea
and scream.
the bikinis are too small,
the men
with bellies
like melons, strutting proudly
from the pier to the far end.
there is no
shame in our bodies
at the shore.
it's okay
to be who you are, or to sit
with an unopened book
and take it all in.