I broke my right arm
when I fell off a flying
saucer. The doctor took
off my cast and dumped
me in a pool of warm, soft
lotion. I later learned we
call it water. I took
navigation classes until I
turned five, then I joined a
team of swimmers who
navigated quicker than fast
forward up and down in the
pool divided into aisles. I later
learned swimmers called them
lanes. I kicked and pulled up
and down those lanes I bet
enough length to go to
California, and yes, I took a
flight to race in California,
So as I see it, I visited there twice.
Nothing obeyed me like water,
I cupped it in my hand, pushed it
under my body and flipped my
hand out of the water at my hip
thirteen times a lap. Nothing
ever felt as predictable as that.
Last time I swam, the water numbed
my lower body due to its mountain
source, and my asthma prevented me
from actually swimming. Walking my
fat ass from the lake to my towel on
the beach convinced me to never
swim again. Remind
me to throw away my medals and
trophies.
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