A handful of years ago a woman told me only irresponsible people have freckles.
Looking down at my patined arms suprised she would say this to me, my eyebrows lifted.
Like waves they course down my arms, spray across my face, rivulets meander down my legs.
I suppose I could have stuck to the edges instead of laughing in the sun.
Scrunched in the shadows not loafed on the grass.
But locked up in how a lady should look sounds like a drag.