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.