The faint smell of chlorine,

Strange shadows begin to appear on the sidewalk.

The chain link fence casts the misshapen squares.

Ants run like crazed madmen

Hoping to beat the fierce spray

Of the nozzle when the kid yells,

“The pool’s closed for the day!

Everyone go home!”

He then starts, immediately, to clean the concrete bays

Where the teenaged girls were laying out in the sun,

Places where their towels,

One by one, touched down and crumbs fell,

Bits of cracker and candy and cheese.

The ants are having a hayday with these,

And the sad boys, dally,

Turning their socks right side out,

And put  their shoes on their oversized feet,

And try to wait for the girls to leave first,

So they can see the wet imprints

Of the girls’ butts on their shorts.

Eleven year old boys do things like that 

For hours at the pool.

They’re willing to look like a dork

And put on a snorkel so they can stay under

Long periods of time to get a good long stare

At the girls underwater, where bathing suits tend to malfunction,

And they have a chance 

To sneak a peak at some forbidden 

Area of a young girl’s anatomy,

Or even that of an old lady who might be thirty-five, or fifty-three!

But now it’s all over for the day.

6pm!

Time to go home,

And try to pretend you didn’t have

A really great time at the pool,

Whatever age you might be!

-jenn