Strokes (tribute to Cheever’s The Swimmer)

No Toes. Must Dive.

Submerged in quiet cool.

Purposeful pleasure.

Drowning Doubt, Washing away Sins.

All are equal in the Womb’s embrace.

The Calm Pool. 

Lapping against you. Lulling the senses. 

And they’re off!

Following Lucinda farther away. 

Cascading into overfilled eddies. 

Docking, Mooring, Anchors away.

The crowd’s anticipation

or maybe their apprehensiveness.

Thrown to the side like a towel or a drink

we swim on.

Hearing the Cheers, the Hurrahs, the Hoorays

yet also the Boos, the Hisses, the Catcalls.

Stroke on, Stroke on.

Aches and pains tear at the psyche.

The chill and the moon bring forth the fear.

Stroke on, Stroke on.

The Sadness above, The Silence below.

Stroke on, Stroke on.

The Finish Line. The Cacophony.

The actual sound which is leaves 

swimming across the garden table. 

  - CMB