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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