Sidewalk Scene

I sneeze and the bum

clutching his can of Four Loko

says "fuck you."

This is the world we live in,

where the sidewalk smells like fish.

And in my dreams

I am always alone.

To Swim Alone

Tomorrow I will go to the water's edge. I will look out at the lake. First across to the other side, where the tree line and water lap together. Then to the sky, shielding my eyes from the sun. I'll probably point, say something about the white and the blue of it. How it matches the color of the water, and wonder which is it – who matching whom? I will take off my clothes in the sunlight. I'll fumble with the socks. When I am wearing nothing, I will wade in, hands folded at my breast, scared, wondering. I will study the feeling of the sediment beneath my feet. I will study the bits at the bottom, then the deep. I will look out at the goal. While pine needles stir at my ankles, while I long to look back to you – your body, your calm reassuring smile, you voyeur's desire – I will focus on the surface. Then, I will break it. Hands first. Hair streaming behind. Skin cold eager to fill with blood. Eyes shut. I will dive out alone. It will be okay.