Reality

On observing a woman swimming.

Reality


Joyful children
nine or ten of them, moving so quickly
I can scarcely count them,
playing for hours in the pool by which I sit,
watching.

She approaches gracefully
Perfectly-fitting two-piece, superbly tanned.
Moving with poise and grace she deposits
her towel and bag on the lounge chair
which, I am sure, feels honored by her choice.

Glides gracefully to the pool’s edge and,
pausing but a moment, launches her slim
but voluptuous form, hands over head,
strong, perfectly balanced in her flight,
golden hair streaming,
painted toes gathered into streamlined form
that would make a mermaid envious.

The children around the pool,
awe struck by her beauty and grace,
stop their carousing and admire
as she glides effortlessly across once,
and back again, then again.


I wonder, sitting here,
if she’d be doing that
if she knew
how many of them had peed in it.