Now I Know What It Feels Like to Be a Loan Shark

Bottom

Paisley patterns
dot her bottom
as the lace lingers
around her tan line.
I am the girl at prom
who is wearing the right dress
with the wrong figure.
I grab a towel
to smother the paisley
pressed against my pouch
as I use the other arm to
wrestle her ball from the palms
of my daughters.
The paisley fights back, begs me
to remember
the 10 p.m. workouts
with college jocks
and the size six for one week.
All I remember is the cookie I had for lunch,
and how much I hate that Target
does not have a section for moms
with breast pumps and tide pens
that also includes bathing suits.
She thanks me for the ball,
as my daughter points to a jagged, darkened
line on her leg.
She stuffs my daughter's mouth with
rappelling,  belay, boulder and high ball.
My daughter chokes on her words and throws sand.
She rushes with her ball and bottoms,
back to her game and her glory days.
My daughter points to the red, crooked lines on my stomach, and says "boulder."
I remove my towel, grab a shovel, and dig my way out.