dash

High Diving

Boys’ Diving in the Swimming Sports.
Muscled, tanned by a burgeoning sun,
all four described such sweet deep arcs,
flew down to splash, less neatly
than the year’s televised Olympians
but with such joy and such display.

When they went to university (the town earlier
having bred mainly trawlermen), their grans and parents 
marvelled, at the colleges and courts.

Last year, two of them met, at another Sports Day.
(Their threads: fair-ish careers, admin, odd blip.
Relationships). Their grandsons ran,
torsos as muscled as their forbears’ ever were,
slim stretching legs gobbling the track,
raking and reaching for the moment’s gold.

Robert Nisbet


If you have any comments on this poem, Robert Nisbet  would be pleased to hear from you.

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