Compaction

The first load hits the deep end
twice: once under the bucket,
then, hollow, from the changing rooms.
Broken bricks chip the blue tiles.

Across the curve, four narrow arcs
end in a scuff. Someone has been
skating here. My boot erases
part of the route to the ladder.

We work from the far end.
Each load makes the next one easier
to walk on. Once the slope is gone
we bring the roller in.

At tea I sit on the old pool edge,
my feet on soil. The figure two
still gives the depth in metres.
I brush a crumb out of its curve.

By Friday we can walk across.
The foreman sends me for his flask.
I take the long way round,
keeping to the edge.

Rain comes over the weekend.
On Monday the yard has dried
except for a rectangle
we have to walk around.