The soccer camp my son was supposed to attend this week was cancelled (who knew soccer players were less reliable than writers?), so I ended up at Hillcrest Pool yesterday. Which was not a bad alternative to working, really.
Here are some thoughts from the pool:
The Old Men Diving
From the whirlpool
at public swim
I watch the old men dive.
Each climbs the stairs with care,
hand on the rail,
then steps to the edge
One man bows slightly before each dive,
as if a line of invisible judges
watches, perfect tens in hand.
Then he plummets into the water
with a world-class splash.
One man has six-pack abs beneath
I wish I were an Olympic diver.
I could climb the stairs
and slice through the air,
slide into my reflection
and emerge to their amazement.
But maybe they would be disappointed
as their own perfect images —
bouncing slighty on their heels,
poised to slip into remembered lives —
were shattered by my splash-free dive.