Previously published in the 2008 edition of Kudzu: A Literary Magazine.

The clock counted down the minutes
Before the final whistle would blow,
And all us kids in the pool watched,
Making our way to the refill nozzle
Fighting for positions under the hard flow.
The whistle blew and we pushed for time,
Creeping to the ladders at the speed of glaciers.
Mom gathered the sandals and sunblock and all,
Wrapping me in a towel and ruffling my hair.

Wet feet split-splatted on the ground
As we made our way back to the car.
And I loved the way the asphalt smelled
After being trampled by hundreds of wet feet
On a hot summer day at the city pool.
It was hot as lava on my bare feet
But I couldn’t resist walking all wet
And watching footprints trailing me
Fading off into nothing in the summer sun.

I sat in the car with my brother and mom,
Munching on Bugles and drinking pop,
Wondering why I felt I was still underwater
And why my head felt so plugged,
Snuffling hard between each bite,
Relishing the smell of the chlorine
As well as the moment, the feeling
Of floating out of the water, into the clouds,
Watching lazy summer days glide by.