Public Pool
Jan 3 2023
The wheeled walker
was tucked into a corner
of the public pool change-room.
But coming and going
it was unavoidable,
like a sober memento mori
reminding us
that despite our youthful conceit
of exuberant health
and presumed immortality
we, too, will need one some day.
If we're lucky enough, that is
to live that long.
You see every version of the human body
in a public change-room.
There is no “normal” here;
we are all singular.
The skinny and fat
and morbidly obese.
The hirsute and sleek,
as well as body hair
where you'd least expect it.
The consequence
of infirmity and vanity,
of years
ravaged by sun.
Like the old man
who winters in Florida,
and whose badly wrinkled skin
looks like permanently tanned leather.
The 20-somethings
preening in front of the mirror
unfazed by their vanity;
and the shy adolescent boys,
who shower in their bathing suits
and change in the toilet stalls
where they can't be seen.
The old codger
must have limped out to the pool,
navigating the shower room
with its wet slippery floors,
the glazed tiled deck
where heedless little kids
run instead of walk.
Slipped
into the warm chlorinated water
and slipped off the years,
churning up and down the outside lane;
gratefully weightless
and looking much the same
as everyone else.
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