The Plunge

She dips her purple, sparkling toe

in the pool glowing blue

and waddles to the diving board,

steps onto its stage.

Her round, sunburned cheeks

turn to the sunglassed lifeguard--

Schrodinger's lifeguard,

neither dead nor alive.

She heaves a deep breath that

ruffles her polka-dotted swimsuit

and pads across the plank,

the tip of a pirate’s cutlass

sharp against her spine.

The board flexes

her knees twitch

and with a squeal she plummets

into aqua syrup.

She paddles and kicks,

pulls water apart with cupped palms,

and emerges from the depths.

She pulls herself ashore, dripping,

and wet footprints follow behind

as she rushes back

to the diving board.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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