Swimming to the Buoy
I swam for the buoy as fast as I could
against barging shoulders. Balanced finely
in salt-heavy waves, went further than I should,
looked back to the beach, squinted for the tiny
figures who’d mostly tired of watching me.
I swam harder to show them I was brave,
that I was thin but strong, that I could be
more than a flaw on the face of tall waves.
As I let water slide over me, a fleet
of rough coffin lids, I have no regrets:
my narrow legs feel strong down to my feet,
I breathe out fights, rivalries, dissolve debts.
Now I lie down on the seabed, forget
spectators, and how I longed for biceps.
© Matthew Joseph Johnson, 2010
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