A Crush on My Swim Instructor

Who lost a lung? He said rising
from the criss cross chlorine
(in his hand the spongiform
thing, pink and springy
like a dog’s tongue).

Oh, I say, half gasping:
that’ll be mine. I say,
looking down at my marzipan
ankles, loud in the water
surrounding my burning ears.
(c) 1999 Catherine Weaver All rights reserved.

BigWhiteBlockMuthaFuckaz

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