Ode to Swim Fins

We just couldn’t cut it,

swimming,

exhausted and slow.

The perfect extension

on an imperfect draft

of the human body in progress.

He dreamed an old dream,

of blueish-green,

in the garage through the still of night.

And there he would toil

as the rubber would boil

he’d mold them until they were right.

 

EJ

Published by

Swell Lines Magazine

Bodysurfing yarns woven 'tween crest & trough