In the Slow Lane

Indoors, wide pools splash and spray
as athletes speed through aqua waters;

sleek and tanned, a buffed elite -

Olympic winners, with trademark style

peaking in their youthful training;

tsunamis surging in the lap lanes.

You’ll find me elsewhere – in the slow lane,

swimming where the strokes are smooth,

in companionable silence with other bodies,
all shapes and sizes, weary seasons

fretful, fading, but moving forward

as aging cares dissolve in dreams.

Outside, the desert air harasses.

A merciless sun stalks time-bound days.

On the wind-whipped lake, black swans sail,

feisty creatures of reedy marshes,

dark punctuations of dip and dive

on the cool-edged fringe of watery realms. 

But there’s no full stop to aged dilemmas.

Questions cease.  Seem pointless now,

for what can I tell you as mind-body shrinks?

No crystal gazing will make us young,

nor find fresh wisdom where none exists;

though we’ve time for gems, precious moments,

odysseys to make the memory sing.

Soon we'll swim the deeper channels

in tides of mystery, fierce, raw cycles,
a marathon past our mortal knowing -

eternity, the last adventure

brooding over slow lane worlds.

© bba, 23/01/2010