Swim
it’s not that I can’t swim
I don’t trust the water
what lies underneath it
in the silt
until my foot feels it
even in a swimming pool
I cringe at the thought
of all those other bodies
of those pieces of broken glass
invisible in the reflected light
the water is safe
the lake is pure
the seaweed is harmless
the chlorine protects me
none of which adds to my comfort
the bathtub is deep enough for me
but people drown in tubs
I minimize my risks
yes I can swim
I don’t go the the beach
I don’t sit by the side of the pool
I won’t expose my skin
to the sun
for longer than necessary
and never for pleasure
I won’t even wade
with bottoms of my trousers rolled
it’s not that I can’t swim
I’m not in love
The key to this fun piece is “I minimize my risks.” I’ve buried that line in the middle so that what this starts out as – a sort of display of paranoia – becomes about well, actually, it is pretty much about paranoia. It’s also a list poem – running through variations of what the ‘dangers’ might be – some quite real, others on the silly side.
Some come from my own past – I hated silt in lakes, wouldn’t go in the ocean if there was too much sea weed. I did see someone cut their foot on broken glass on the beach. Lake Ontario water is often deemed unsanitary for swimming. Even if they say is is ‘safe’ today I wouldn’t risk it on any day.
This is also about the paranoias in general – I have a friend who won’t take the subway alone, just in case it stall between stations. Thanks to the corona virus I am being smothered on line by ads for face masks. Costco runs out of toilet paper & bottled water as people prepare for the end of time. I’m pricing disposable plastic gloves for wearing in transit. 
‘my trousers rolled’ is a reference to T. S. Eliot’s ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ in which his narrator is walking along the beach, musing on the risks he has taken or avoided in his life. The nature of the risks we take today are often as banal as this. Skin cancer didn’t seem to excising when I was a boy frolicking in the sun – now I use a 110 sunscreen.
The piece takes an even more sudden turn with that last line – drowning in a sea love.
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