"The Summer I Was Sixteen"

The Summer I Was Sixteen
Geraldine Connelly

The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,
its slide a silver afterthought down which
we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.
We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.

Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted
up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool
lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,
we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,

danced to the low beat of "Duke of Earl".
Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,
we came to the counter where bees staggered
into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled

cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,
shared on benches beneath summer shadows.
Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille
blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,

mouthing the old words, then loosened
thin bikini straps and rubbed baby oil with iodine
across sunburned shoulders, tossing a glance
through the chain link at an improbable world.

I think this poem is absolutely lovely.  Even though we can tell by the clues in the text that the summer the speaker was 16 was much before any of my students were (or will be) 16, and much before I was 16, I think we can all relate to this nostalgic look at summertime activities.
I absolutely love going to the pool, pretty much anywhere, any time.  I love being in the water.  I have a lot of memories of going to the pool from childhood and my teen years.  I've been to lots of pools when I think about it.  I used to go to the pool at my Grandma's country club when I would spend the week with her in the summertime.  I remember going to the pool in Asheville -- I don't remember exactly where it is or was, but it was a really big pool and you could see cool rides and stuff from it.  I wish I could remember what that place was called.  It was really cool.  I went to pools in Florida when going to Disney World, and to pools at hotels from here to Arizona to Idaho to Maine when we would take family road trips in the summer.  Going to the pool is just great.
I could say more about the wonderful rosey lenses through which you see your teen years when you are past them, and how that altered hind sight is both a reevaluation based on later acquired wisdom and a lie we tell ourselves in which our youth was easier and happier than it really was (adults like to forget that being in high school wasn't really all that easy).  But, I suppose I'll let you guys find all of that out on your own.  After all, it's one of those kinds of things that you can't really tell someone before they experience and have them understand or believe you anyway.