Going in, the deep humid smell of the swimming pool
And the timeless, ringing echo of childish shriek and splash,
Can't compete with the changing room stink of piss and perfume.
No hero here. No high dive,
Or kilometres of freestyle before breakfast.
A mid afternoon interlude of convalescence in hydro.
The physiotherapist, siren like, encourages from the shore
The already wrecked bodies trapped in the shallows.
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