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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
wiping sweat from our brows
for drinks and a break;
searching for something in the flashing dark.
how we used be breathless lying
on the grass, dripping shiny
pale skin just out of the pool
much like the nightclub of
sticky shirts, glazed foreheads; sitting
for a break before going excitedly again.
childhood days by a deep pool
in the sun forever has us swimming
as the dark night-club’s lights flash
before us like a sign, last bus out of town.
June 16th 2006
Seán O Muiríosa