Seventeen

Summer after chlorine saturated summer we pretended we were cholitas,   twelve year old lambs in disguise.   I wore swap-meet Adidas breakaways over unshaved legs and blue gray Venice Dolphin’s swimsuit.   Seventeen, our lieutenant, tiptoed lightly, a damp towel tightly wrapped around her curves,   sang Mariah Carey’s Fantasy. She’s Mary’s baby, her…