Oh, You’ll Get No Swimming Today, Dear

 

Oh, You’ll Get No Swimming Today, Dear

 

Oh, there’ll be no swimming today,

dear, she’s dropped you, she’s on her way

but something rotten, a man chipping tiles,

scaffolded in the gods above, rasps and files

and renovation a Ugandan security smiles

with an apologetic shrug.

 

What can you do? You recall how Ronald spoke

of promiscuous womenfolk

and why absence makes the drought last less

decide not to put him to the test,

brave deserted windswept streets and walk.

It’s only yourself with whom you talk,

like Prozac or some other drug.

 

Your feet know not which way they drag,

and the brick weight of your brick bag,

grips at shoulders, chafes under armpits

to make a blistered bent back sag a bit,

reminds you you’re no longer young

and the slave that is the desert sun

is tasked to make you sweat.

 

Once you’ve rounded those several blocks

indecisively, hobbled over the extra rocks,

put in the unnecessary yards,

dodged the omnipresent security guards,

tapped in irritation to whining prayers,

questioned why you’re even there -

unfolded the laptop, scowled at reasons,

mumbling curses at their unforgiving season

that will almost surely get you yet.