an inch more to the left

& the Zenith radio static dies down.

leaving us the music & our

hands

rippling chlorinated water

.

i’m floating like a crucified God

amidst the cottonwood babies

resting on the surface,

gripping to the strands of my hair

like you used to when we

fucked

.

your dad likes

how i appreciate craft beer now.

he also wants to know why i’m here,

unpadded bathing suit & all.

i don’t love you like that anymore,

but we can still share a

strawberry shake

.

a perfect afternoon swimming

in your dead grandma’s pool.

older than the trees that frame

the noon sun above me

as i skim out leaves

with a ripped net.

getting lost in the slow eddies

trailing the metal.

in the hushing churn of water

(6/24/20)