The Pool and The Nightclub
in here we cannot hear.
the swirl, the swash of decibels resound
like the thumping, waving pounds
like the pulsating dives and splash of noises at the pool
where childhood thoughts were on
the simple joys of a hot summer’s day.
we find a little corner for ourselves
where we can gather to shout
and strain –
to hear – the louder ones
exerting control; and days of picnics
by the blue pool return, return.
the dance floor wears us out
as we flop, hop, dropp in waves
but return to our corner
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