At our summer retreat

I am ten, and a half.

From the outhouse,

I hear your voices,

casual as you return from the pool.

Such a ninny-

Won’t go in the water.

Howard, tell him he’s supposed to enjoy himself.

That’s why we’re here.

Unsuspecting conversations hurt the most.

They are honest and free.

I come back to the trailer,

fake nonchalance.

Hurt inside, feeling foreign.

They all go off to visit the neighbors.

I stay back.

What’s the matter, stick in the mud?

I say I will go shoot some baskets.

When they are gone,

I take a towel and go to the pool.

I watch.  I see.

I climb the high dive tower,

and I drop.

But not for you.



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