The two-story house was black,
parents on vacation, & out back:
a pool beckoned Indiana
summer. Agriculture in the breeze,
humidity pressing in like a hot towel
in the barber’s chair. Somebody’s
older brother brought Old Milwaukee.
Somebody else stole smokes from
her mother. The kid who hustled
dime bags of the sticks & seeds
he skimmed from his doctor daddy
stripped down & jumped in first.
Then it was on: everyone plunged in,
one after another going from naked
to chlorinated with a quickness.
I sat on the side, sweat slick
in cut-off shorts & nearsightedness.
Bird chested, rib cage yelling
for seconds of something.
Dime Bag called me chicken
because I looked like one & the rest
of the swimmers laughed.
Nobody heard the parents pull up
after their flight got cancelled
& I don’t know if the swimmers
saw the lights come on in the house.
I was scrambling the back
fence when I heard them
splashing back to their clothes.