Submerged
the old sea-pool churns out fun
frantic heads flick side to side, limbs flashing, thrashing
some are slicing, cutting through
elegant submariners chased by water-wake
here is one of distinction!
stylistic splasher, appendages pummelling
plunge under, submerged from sight
absent for longer than you are prepared to look
where is he? where's goggle-eyes?
he's there on the diving board, arm and body poised
launches out, " Dymo " diving
flat trajectory, depth-charge slap, bow-wave rippling
then disappears down the years
is that really him? no goggles, the next-door house
distinctly in there somewhere
reclusive, settled deep in the parental home
comes up for air, now and then
bicycle scuttles by, too fast, no time for talk
submerged by night-time shadows
the rare morning breaks, he is there! so have a word
chat about those poolside days
glimmer in his eyes, about to say, turns away
hasty retreat back through time
" Dymo's " really gone now, submerged, bow-wave rippling
days merge, weeks, months and decades
we misplace our keys to unlock the present now
cascading hullabaloo
our minds fill up with noise, too much whoosh, too much din
frustration bangs the door
we exasperate, repeat our repetitions
submerged below the moment
grasp at recognition, at memory sticking
immersion, pressure building
hold our breath, hold our years inside the pool of joy
rush up again, what's the fuss?
hanging on, kick the feet, relaunch, bow-wave rippling
Copyright © Ian Love | Year Posted 2021
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