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On going down the black hole at Stockport Grand Central Baths

It is of course the big one.
The triple dare,
The jet propelled, water streaming initiation,
The pride of Stockport Baths.

Space age tube of luminous green plastic, looping yantra:
(Inside, of course, it’s completely black) you are too new and strange for me.
Colt limbed they throw themselves down it, again and again,
Bobbing up like exhilarated corks to try again.
So I will not do it.

I swim in gently measured pace, up and down the pool.
I am too old, too unchanging: too scared.

It is time to get out. We eat cheerful chips and hamburgers in a bright café.
He’s been down it 25 times.
I leave them and their ice cream messed rewards – and creep back.

Even at the open gateway, I am too old for this.
Bubble of my fear: I get in and fold my arms, corpse-like.

Once in, of course, there is absolutely nothing you can do –
You just laugh in the darkness,
And land with a splash.