Chlorine, the killer.

It was a hot day for a swim
I was covered
in sweat before
I even stepped
down
the
stairs.
Thought I was alone,
well, me,
the heat, and all that
water.
But really I was someone
else’s company:
the Dead Frog,
limp below my feet.
Thought he was alone,
too.
I thought about burying him,
scooping him up in my hands
like ice cream,
but I was afraid.
I think he would have rather died
in water anyway,
not covered in dirt.
I swam away and he
drifted.
Later on I was looking
for my notes,
the ones for my new story,
folded up and creased
in the back of a poetry book.
I couldn’t find them
and I started
to sweat.
“You lost what?
-oh, well I did find some
thing
at the bottom of the pool,”
my dad told me.
“I tried to scoop them out, but
it was useless, they all
fell apart.”

There they were
alone
on the concrete.
“It looks like a snowflake now.”
If only snowflakes could fly
in June.

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