Recreational Facility

I have been the springboard
       where all your thoughts have balanced,
       toes over the sandpaper edge,

       and, too, the saturated surface
       suspension unbroken as you turn,
       countless times, back
       down the ladder, to play racquetball,

                     instead.

I’m glad you’re going. You’ll find
someone to read your poems, a better backboard
to catch the bounce of bounding desires,
to lay across the lacquered hardwood
in the smooth red circle center of
                     your heart.
                     It’s best that way.

My love for you echoes
through empty locker rooms,
muffled, buried in canvas bags
under piles of sweat-drenched towels,
       dirty laundry. It dissolves in steam
as the lights clunk off in buzzing rows,
as the janitor buffs out the black scuff marks
like penciled end rhymes, cut from the roster,
       eraser shavings;

       let the pressed barbell indents
       rise and vanish from the mats,
       heavier parts heaved back to the rack;

       let the climbing ropes collapse
       frayed at the base of the wall,
       twisted, tangled in defeat;

       let the chlorine footprints fade
       along the tired tiled hallways;

                     everybody
                                          out of the pool.


photo cred

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