I hate the sea. I've always hated water
even as a baby, even in my bath,
or so my mama says. She likes it, herself.
She goes in the sea like a mermaid, and comes out
a monster, rubber fins slimy with eelgrass.
The beach boys watch her. They're supposed to watch
me, but I don't care, for I am queen
of an island state in the pool, where everything
is blue, like my bathing suit. It is called Bolivia.