Deep End

The gate is locked with a rusted chain.

I look through the diamonds of wire

at the basin where the summer died.

The concrete is gray and swept with frost.

Down in the deep end, a sneaker sits,

bloated and heavy with last week's rain.

Laces like drowned worms.

Near the drain, the algae has dried

into a green and yellow bruise,

a map of a country where no one lives.