Another recipe poem. This memory came to me yesterday during a prompt session. The pool was the center of our existence when I was a kid — trying to capture some of that along with the funny moment.

BTW, I am trying to “find” the titles of all the recipe poems from the directions of the recipe (in case you were wondering.)

That summer my sister wore a swimsuit
like strawberry shortcake — red and white,

exactly one ruffle. Mine had a belt,
complete with loop and fork.

Our youngest sister squinted
as she tiptoed the edge.

Waves in our above-ground pool rippled
with the latest shift of swimmers.

My sisters and I, our many friends,
dried on beach towels, arranged

on the warm concrete of the patio.
It was either that or take off our suits.

No dripping through the house!
Our house was an enclave of women

mostly, except for our youngest brother,
his bowl cut and Hot Wheels™.

The sun refracted sparkles through
my wet eyelashes as clothes flapped

on the line. My friends and I were hungry
for tomato and cheese sandwiches.

I sliced tomatoes and cheese
at the kitchen counter, buttered bread.

Mother swiped a slice of tomato
while she smoked, her ear to the phone.

My sister cannonballed into the pool,
whoosh whistling through the window screen.

I peeked at the sizzling bread
as my sister kicked off her swimsuit

in the back hall. "Going to Mary's,"
she shouted, dashing for the basement

in her radiant nakedness, swimsuit
wrapped up in a towel, bound for the rack.

Mother licked her fingers. "Does she know
that your brother is downstairs with his friends?"

A scream suddenly warbled, two notes of surprise.
I flipped a sandwich. "She does now."