In senior swim

In senior swim we count our laps with wood,
clothespins filched from line-bound household duty.
Old balsa bones like boats misunderstood
surf rubber-pink floats, lost childhood's booty.
Our modest suits surprise the callow eye
with hues of a paradise tropical.
We're cobra and cheetah and svelte magpie
when seen through the goggle myopical.
We float and we dive and we kick and we
relish our common blue watery womb.
We have not left earth to return to the sea,
we have not let gravity sink us in tombs.
In senior swim we need no safety vests: We save ourselves, these buoyant hearts attest.

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