Lounge of Tomorrow

An ugly duckling in a ruffled cap
my arms shoot forward, push the water back
but woe, my cyclic lubricated lap
is stopped abruptly, under an attack

I stop. I find myself peripheral
to scene obscene, to gauling gaudy whim.
A makeshift Busby Berkeley musical
has now commenced to swirl around my swim

As the aerobics class extends their arm
with ballerina grace, they lolligag
while splashing out, thus causing some alarm:
their circle-move creates a current drag

Together they move slowly but in synch,
displace the water like they walk on air
so as I try breaststroking in the drink
my legs are kicking but I go nowhere

A veritable whirlpool at their hand!
I struggle for the motion, for my breath.
The water-weenies laugh and then demand
I acquiece and join their dance of death

And why not take a step unto the left?
No reason I must swim where their waves break.
I move into their circle at the cleft,
discovering an ease within their wake.

I think, if only I could find a way
to fall in with the freaks in water wings
who circle my workplace, my home, my play,
I wouldn't meet resistance of all things.

I cause my own unnecessary strife.
I swim against the current of my life.