Swimming

One Sunday we went swimming
at our local municipal pool,
and after we swam 
we fought with our socks
and the kids’ demands
to undo their good work
with a vending exchange
and the death knell
of a Mars Bar.
We had our lunch,
in a local chain pub
which is one of a million,
brutal in its regularity
familiarity 
just like this day
except this day
was the first day
in a small, precious lifetime
where I didn’t look up
at the sky
(and today it was blue)
and think, for a moment, 
with matter of fact contemplation
resignation
about ropes and tracks and bridges
or pills and crashes.
Unmarked on calendars or
by any celebration
but it’s a day, my day
and we will always go swimming.

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