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The Black Line
The smell of chlorine in the air.
Teams and parents screaming like a bear.
The water, no match for my suit.
On the block waiting for the dreadful toot.
Black lines that go on indefinitely.
Which are not to get lost from evidently.
Hearing the slosh of water rush past my ears,
sharing the win with your peers.
Until your lungs pray for air,
then you breath and he is standing there.
Coach.
Chanting and screaming nostrils at flare.
And that black line that
Just.
Never.
Ends.
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