Meanwhile, at the local pool.....


Thresholds

Something about a change room door
The goings in and out,
Attracts whistlers,
Something unseen perhaps,
A trip-wire on the floor,
Or thoughts of shaving,
All that damp and steam about,
Memorials of the camping trip,
Or just a craving for another time,
When it really didn’t matter.
The whistling, I mean,
It starts like a fragile song
Slightly out of tune and
Segues into hopeful alleys,
None of them wrong,
Just off-beam.
Warblers are rarely
Found in pairs,
They cancel each other,
Or so it would seem.
Only so much room
For so many airs.