deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Lido

Distance 300m, air temp -2.8, water temp 9.8, frosty and dry

I take to water,
left of the dual carriageway
on a frosty, January morning.
I take no time for fear,
don't swallow it, don't let it swallow me.
I listen to the birdsong, imagine the horseshoe bats taking flight behind my eyelids
on a dimlit night,
channel their screams, carried in silence upon human ear.
My toes curl into the metal grate of a step, fingers lick the edge of water
as if a long-lost lover's remeeting.
I picture you, between the pool edge and I,
shivering, all winter silver and black.
The drips, caught on tips, splash on the back of my stained neck, where a swan sits and has sat
for over a decade,
frozen.
A moment of grief I shall gladly carry
for my lifetime.
I sink, and wade, and swim,
breathe the Devon chill across the surface,
imagine being a seal and living out my days in the pool.
My flesh, the colour grey, stroked fondly by visitors,
my mind thinking only of food and comfort.
I swim,
and swim,
and swim in laps.
The Buckfastleigh lifeguard checks in,
feels like a friend, invests his interest in our well-being.
My soul swells, soars and bursts
upon this brilliant dry, sunny morn
and I thank this great Earth
and those humans on it
who make this lido a home.
ImperfectedStone
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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