Thursday, April 19, 2012

Cup Half Full

My friend's cups were all half empty,
My own cup was always half full...
Everyone loved my swimming parties
I loved most, the drained, empty pool.

Friends floating on their inflatable rafts,
Couldn't imagine past parties or know...
Warm sleeping bags on hard concrete,
Circling the drain, just ten feet below.

Those nights our young voices echoed,
In our campground sans horizon line...
We lived by choice subterranean,
Below deck for such a short time.

Morning pool-boys opened the spigot,
Flooding first, the encampment's deep end...
The empty pool forever changed us,
No longer young campers, but diving again.

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