Chlorine.

Sleep is coming.

Climb the ladder up into bed;

The bed up on stilts.

 

Key lime pie and coffee,

The sugar overrides everything.

A couple bubbles float to the surface

And it makes me think of a truck stop

And the taste of soap.

 

I have no idea what romance is

But I know how to set a trap.

 

The smell of chlorine,

Of public pools,

Hovers down humid hallways

That lead into the planetarium.

 

Once inside, we look and look and look

For the guy with the night vision goggles

That are teachers forewarned us about

But saw nothing / found no one.

 

We pulled our pants down

There in the dark and wondered

‘What went wrong?’

If in fact anything was wrong

Or perhaps it was and, very much, still is

Just the confusion that rides side saddle

Along with rebirth.

 

Probably.