Ouch! the blisters pop one by one from the splash, the cannonball into the hotel pool and they're gone pop, pop, pop, just like that. They melt into the warm blue pool water, leaving only spots in their wake, soon to become permanent freckles - brown like a shoe - brown like my hair. Connect the dots and fill them in like aisles or runways. Color a stripe down the back and chase a cat telling her how irresistable she is in the polka dot dress - orange and green dots on a black background with white rickrack like a picket fence around her neck and arms. She'll run fast so make quick little feet silent - tread softly when you tread, my love, or she'll hear you. And then the skin cracks, the elbow points, wearing thin. It flakes little dry particles, spotting the skin, the cloth, the wood - a raw red patch on the point, jutting out from the side in technicolor. Giraffes, like rainbows, with long eyelashes, and zebras with big round dots instead of stripes, all neon-like-flourescent colors that glow in the dark. And the zebra has big polka dot eyes too, blue blue with long fans for eyelashes and a pretty pearly-toothed smile with a touch of pink lipstick in a field of marigolds, tall, reaching toward the sun, stretching their heads, their round bonnets waving.