Poetry

When the sun rises
the children already want to rollick
but you are still asleep
and very far from being ready.
Glued to the mirror
with your DD-breasts to your own glance you are too fat
while you regard yourself in a painfully small bikini
where you have got a perfect figure.
On the beach I rub suntan oil over you
where you sit under the big umbrella
and every man observes you
while you watch everyone from behind sunglasses.
Every afternoon we have lunch in a restaurant
where you do enjoy seafood and the children some steak
just at the edge of the beach
and you do regard the holiday as miserable
even when we drive out to some places
and the children want to stay at the sea eternally.