Aphrodite in America

The sign reads SPA WORLD. It's a
razor clam of a strip mall
dropped on a wet-sand sky.
The man inside takes my shoes.
He gives me a key on a wristband
the color of Monterey kelp.

Down a green corridor,
another locker takes my clothes.
An ink-haired matron
with rubbery arms scrubs me hard
with fistfuls of sand. She upends buckets
of warm water over my thighs.
I rise from the cushion of foam.

I come away lustrous, languid,
thoroughly shelled. I know
if I allow it, Spa World's ruddy cherubs
will pelt me with flowers
and drape me in pink silk.


detail from "The Birth of Venus" by Sandro Botticelli