wet world! with its own special wet-skin chlorine smell

its own bright blue-tinged sparkle light

and its own music, ever pulsing! far above

the close-by sounds of bodies working happy-hard

quiet slice-swish-slice of swimmers who are good

wild loud splashing from the very many who are not

yet no judgment, no critique . . . gentle sweet performance vibe

observed, observing, every stroke within the pool

every step on slippy ancient orange tiles —

the lifeguards look, the swimmers too

somehow no shame in it, all equally exposed

and by their choice, a wholesome equity

jacuzzi beckoning to yield its hidden hot massage

below smooth surface, pulses surge

throb through your flesh

alone or not you twist this way and that, avail yourself —

on outstretched feet and arms —

arched neck, back, and belly —

buttocks, thighs and calves —

every place, each inch can benefit

in rhythm with pool music, a kind of seated dance

sometimes as recommended, addressing some small injury —

pulled muscle, say or charley-horse —

but mostly just forestalling one

strengthening but also simply soothing, sweet wet sensations

sometimes all alone, you immersed with only you

sometimes while you're engaged in swim-time politesse

crazy weather! crazy price of pears! so darn much random craziness

the water pushing on your well-worked flesh feels calming, good

the half-heard friendly aimless chat does too

so good that this time, when at long last you rise up to go

and chatty man smiles down, then gestures toward your chest

where you see that your swim top, pressed by the throbbing jets,

has moved, despite its firm pink Lycra grip

enough to fully bare left breast, let it swim free

silly pink-nosed fish escaped from its smooth net

somehow it's no big deal!

you thank him, you adjust a bit

then climb the grey tiled stairs

head back to swim some more.