Malibu Barbie

Malibu Barbie

Long body, swimsuit, toting naught but towel
My earliest conception of this exotic locale
Mystique this Virginia woodsy-girl can’t manage
When I’m grown will I be…
Malibu?

She is
pert, available, leisure out the wazoo
hair artfully beach-waved
Perhaps solo or with other unattached, capable adults
(Convenient companions — carry their own beach gear,
split the tropical drink tab)
Maybe umbrella lounge chair, palm tree-chic soirée with the crew:
Ken, Christie, PJ, Skipper
Posing fashion in the summer sunset for pleasure
Ever Smiling!

Can I be Malibu Barbie?
lugging, extremely occupied, kids out the wazoo
hair pulled back, gray-touched
Never solo, attached to young, incapable beings
(Who half-carry half the gear,
clutch Minute Maid in chubby, sandy hands)
In my Malibu, dramatic driftwood lounge chair, ocean life soirée
Sunset means goodnight urchins, hermit crabs, octopus, anemone
Tide-pool-damp clothes feel like a lick of winter

It’s the year “all” women self-ID as
“This Barbie — ” “Hi Barbie!”
Where am I in Barbie’s dream house?
I am weirder than weird Barbie
A mockable Midge
At last in Malibu and I share
nothing of Barbie at all

Oh hi! One thing:

I am the genesis of play

I mess with my budding biologists
I run with my seagull screamers
Flat feet in the wet sand, bent arms full of baby
This Barbie is a Mom,
ever smiling