Swimming

I was reading an article about James Agee in The New Yorker. It quoted something that he had written as a film critic, about Bathing Beauty, a film featuring Esther Williams:

I could not resist the wish that Metro-Goldwin-Mayer had topped its aquatic climax -- a huge pool full of girls, fountains, and spouts of flame -- by suddenly draining the tank and ending the show with the entire company writhing like goldfish on a rug. But M-G-M resisted it.

Naturally that reminded me of a poem I wrote several years ago. I don't know what inspired it, but it came out weird, and it's still weird, and here it is:

Swimming to Shore

We show good form,
try not to flail.

A few tread water;
then Esthers
with beautiful breast-strokes
surround them
swimming in sync,
singing high and sweet:

Honey, just don’t think
don’t think
There’s no time to cogitate
it’s late
You have a hot blind date
with fate
Come on! The water’s fine!

and a grinning dolphin leaps at the end
to make sure.

We're praying to reach
that blessed Shore
where we won’t have to breathe
anymore.