Itty Bitty
I exhale all of the air
from my tired lungs.
There hangs before me
a tropical beach scene
smattered on white gathered fabric.
What hangs before me is the mysterious
“String bikini”
This is made evident by the barely there
fabric held on by a prayer with
strings impossibly small
that makes me question
the engineering feat of holding
such an ensemble together.
I gather the offending garments
with a small glimmer of hope
peeking out from under my strappy
black blouse.
The strappy white fabric
with its tasteful tropical beach scene
does not give me the appearance
of beach broad’s bodies of bygone eras.
It barely hangs onto my breasts
now threatening to bust from the front
like a haphazard can of biscuits.
I move to the side suddenly,
which causes my breast to fall out
like a reluctant Madonna.
A voice festering in my skull
shouts out, “put that damn thing away!”
No, this offensive garment will not do.
The bottoms are next to come.
My apron belly proudly drapes over
the impossibly small fabric,
swallowing any vision
of the beach scene.
I giggle at the thought
of being chased down the beach,
loudly shouting “I swear, officer, I’m clothed!”.
This ensemble will not do.
Maybe in another life
will I take the risk of being cited
for public indecency.
Which is something I’m convinced
was made up by skinny people.
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