Swim Lessons at the Club

She drops them on the cooldeck, not noticing the heat
through her gray suede pumps. They hop to the edge,
laughing as they leap into cool water, splashing the corner
of her dress. She spins, wants to yell, but they are gone
under the blue pool. It hurts her eyes to watch the sun
sparkle across the waves. Her briefcase beckons
under yellow umbrellas, she glances at the frolicking
mass of limbs in the water, annoyed by the noise.

She has fun at bunco night and book club
although she hasn’t read a book in years, yet she raises
her head over nannies and landscapers, growing larger
than life in the middle, where her skirt no longer buttons.
Her husband cowers, performing marital
duties on Tuesdays, taking it out on the dog otherwise.

She dreams of a love who found new parts of her
under the slit of a zipper,
unfolding on the dock by the lake lapping
weathered wood.

A shrill voice commands them to hurry, slow down, pay
attention, her demands fall on tiny smiling ears.