Deep Blue

You’ve got an anchor

tied to your foot

on a steel chain

that you drop

everyday 

at five o’clock.

You let the water rush 

over your head

filling your lungs

making you 

gasp for air.

Soaked to the skin

choking on your

own blonde hair.

You invite newcomers 

to jump in—

so maybe you

can experience a wave.

It’s enticing to be

cooled off on

a hot summer day.

They dive in-

you choke

with chlorine 

lingering in

your mouth.

That chemical 

concoction 

you invited

into your house.

You’re not drowning.

You’re in your own

backyard trying to

kill yourself

in a 4-foot deep pool.

The only thing pulling

you down is you.

Friends see you flail,

and the newcomer does too:

If you’d straighten

your legs you’d be

above water.

This isn’t the deep blue.