by Jim Farfaglia
My brother and I pedal like mad,
leaving behind our quiet country road
and weaving through the city’s busy life.
A dime buys us a locker key,
we slip on our bathing suits
– bare feet tiptoeing on cold concrete –
and enter the West Side Pool,
with its endless playful waters
to splash away our summer sweat.
Later, sunning myself on a towel,
I watch the brave ones climb each rung,
triumphantly reaching the top,
then effortlessly diving into the water’s arms…
When would I climb my stairway of growing up?
How would I ever break the surface of my fear?