Friday, July 14, 2017

Poems I Admire #37

The Glare of the Sun on the Water
Dylan Scott

Mom doesn't afford us a babysitter,
but in the summer she buys
us a pass to O'Connor's Pool.
She is nice. I hold Cody's hand
when we cross Washington and Ninth
and Huntington. He barks 
at the chained-up dogs. 
I tell him it's mean. 

We change, then meet outside
the snackbar and find a place
to put our towels.

The water is warm and alive. 
With your head under, you can hear
the kicking and splashing. 
I can't open my eyes underwater.
It burns. But Cody does, 
and he tells me what the world
looks like from the bottom 
of the pool. He does cannonballs, too.
The water swallows him.

Cody got in a fight with Russel
today. They used to be friends, 
but aren't any more. The lifeguard
sent us home.

Cody didn't bark at the dogs. 
He was nice. I held his hand 
across Huntington and Ninth 
and Washington, and down
the sidewalks.

Irving was home. He was 
smoking, and watching TV. 
Cody tried to tell him what happened,
and I said it wasn't his fault.
It didn't matter.

I snuck in his room that night. 
I whispered that everything would
be fine – that I wouldn't let
Irving or Russel near him, 
that I would watch his
cannonballs, and that we
would split a Coke tomorrow. 
He was quiet, like he
couldn't hear me. 

The next morning 
we couldn't go to the pool.
They said something happened,
but wouldn't tell me what it was.
The lady, Mrs. Caston, said
we had to go. We drove down
Washington, and Ninth, then
Columbia, then Lincoln, then
a whole bunch of streets
I didn't know. I tried to tell her
that the car was big, and there
was room for Cody. She didn't
say much, but I think she 
was nice. I think she wanted
to say something.

The ride was quiet and long.
I thought of the water,
and the anxious hands
breaking the still.


Dylan Scott is my friend and the best poet no one's heard of. Here's hoping a positive response to this poem will encourage him to continue writing and, maybe, throw together a submission every now and again.

1 comment:

  1. Hey Dylan, if Dan Simmons says to publish, you need to publish. This poem is really fine -- nuance, meter, depth -- it's all there. Go for it!

    ReplyDelete