Eyelids unlatched, squinting at beckoning light, unfamiliar hotel bed

day one. Layers lost, flip flops on, colour me sun! bring it on!

Hopes pinned on that healthy glow, sun down, sangria flows.

Day two, water park local’s fluorescent swim suits, and tanned

cottage cheese skin. Hot dog legs, holiday photos, hoping still for

day three healthy glow, that looking slim and younger pretence.

Shakes start, sun stroke, even my goose-bumps are peeling.

Day four, the beach, a floating hippopotamus surfaces the sea

he has sunburn upon sunburn, wife’s laughter is forbidden.

Day five tight skin, tight clothes, throw the towel in. Foreboding,

inherited moles. After-sun lotion drained, long dress adopted.

Day six packed case, anticipating own bed and compliments

‘gone a lovely colour’.  Don’t want to leave, but ready for home.

Day seven the journey, the night flight’s bathroom mirror tells

a tale, there is no glow or colour for pink, pointless sunbathers.


Samantha Henthorn copyright 2017.


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