Swimming Lessons

Bathers, 1950 by George Tooker

The smell of chlorine and sweat

stings my nose and throat

My feet scrape against

unfamiliar concrete,

step in puddles 

of warmish water

The sickly sweet scent

of suntan lotion

fills the air with

artificial coconut

My bathing cap

covers my head

in gaudy rubber flowers,

the strap pulled too tight

I gaze around the grass,

try to find an open spot

to lay my towel

and glasses

Now I am a mole

in the overbearing sunlight

I want to tunnel

back underground 

Here I am too exposed

My pale skin protests

the scorching light

Shouts and laughter

of other children

are a foreign language to me

I am an outsider

I know my otherness

will be discovered

any moment

Whistle blows

shrill and ominous

The lesson begins

Cold water assaults

my skin,

uncovered and unprotected

We line up

at the diving board

I feel like a cow 

being herded to slaughter

One after the other

the children jump and dive

Then it is my turn

I feign confidence

and walk to the board's end

pray silently to Poseidon

and jump

The sting hits 

my belly

as it always does

My nose fills

with water

My eyes

with tears

I climb up the ladder

Bright red slap on my belly

and a matching one

on my face

I look at the clock

and calculate 

how many more assaults

I must endure

until the hour is

over.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 277