Blue Burn

Drove past the pool. CrossFit now.

Same cinderblock, different sign.

Kettlebells where the shallow end was.

The building hasn't changed its mind.

Windows down. I caught the ghost

of chlorine—that chemical sting

you'd carry in your sinuses for hours,

baked into your skin, into everything.

Lifeguard's face: gone. Just the chair.

The gutter slapping tile, the glare.

My fingers pruned until the skin felt borrowed.

The pool's been filled with concrete. The burn's still there.