In a lane as straight as a child’s rule,
as twilight falls, not dark, not quite,
I swim another lap of the pool.

The water encloses me, comfortably cool.
The attendant passes, flicks on a light.
In a lane as straight as a child’s rule

I swim alone.And though it’s cruel
to keep him here on a Friday night,
I swim another lap of the pool.

My windmilling arms unwind a spool
of roiling yarn, soon lost to sight,
in a lane as straight as a child’s rule.

Fit for the task. I’m the perfect tool.
My dead gaze swerves right, swerves right.
I swim another lap of the pool.

The drill’s bright bit, its tip, its jewel—
I am the pen in the hand that writes.
In a lane as straight as a child’s rule
I swim another lap of the pool.