running from the pool

I swim the bay. six fifteen. water is grey. wind is mean.

the shoulder clicks on the fourth stroke. it does not break. my arm just keeps going.

I stand up in the shallow and I do not move. for one second I am the swimmer again. no one sees me that way.

then I drive to apex. rob asks if I would take a fight in autumn. I say I have not picked yet. I have not picked yet.

the receipt is on the fridge. I keep not looking at it.

I think I want the fight because I do not want to sit still. if I sit still I will think about the water. I will think about the swimmer. I will think I lost him.

boxing is just me running from the pool.

I do not say that out loud. I am saying it now. closing the page.