In the pool at Aquaboulevard
the swimmers bob in the denatured wave
for five minutes every hour.
I check the affiche for the slides
which grades them for difficulty and age.
Adam wants to do them all.
Here’s the mangrove hot tub!
Here’s the 20 person jacuzzi!
The naiads are all dead.
Poor dears, they lived fearful lives
singing the blues under crystalline rivulets.
I do not think they will sing for us.
We invented fun
in the headlong 20th century
grading our sensations accordingly.
Screaming down the intestinal turns
of the Aquaraft
I forgot my connection to the greater whole.