chlorine  

a whale slept in the diving well
which i told no one else about.
in the summer the pool was
my babysitter & my companion
& my bully & my crush. 
i swallowed chlorine. 
pressed dollar store goggles
to my face & imagined a reef 
on the cement floor of the pool.
i brought the whale offerings:
a scrunchie or a single french fry.
the whale had the face of an old man.
a beard made of television static.
he told me, "do not talk to boys."
i explained to him, "i am a boy."
he said, "i know." the whale sometimes
surfaced in the form of a basketball.
teenagers played on the courts 
beside the pool. on the farthest end
there was a grill where adults went
to laugh about nothing. burgers 
& hotdogs all july. once i stepped
in ketchup & thought i was bleeding to death.
the whale said, "you will know
when you are bleeding to death.
there will be a pool of only your own blood."
i pretended to be a god sometimes.
one who could command water. 
the ocean was so small but i filled it
with sharks & razors. licking salt
from my fingers as i sat on the edge.
the whale always called. he pleaded,
"come & sing to me." even in the deep 
i could still hear the loud speakers
spilling radio across water. i sung along.
the whale said, "i would like
to make a bullet out of your voice."
i don't know if he ever did. 
it is dangerous to be as alone as i was.
you start to see everything in sapphire
& walk whales on leashes. i left at sunset.
sky an orange warning. feet pruned.
fresh freckles sprouted across my nose.