The First Swim

By April, grass will reach the shallow end.
Rain has been practising all winter.
I found the key beneath the lifeguard's chair.
Nobody had thought to change the lock.
Green tiles come loose in little shoals.
Someone left a spade beside the drain.
Even the deep end holds a little soil.
Each rung leaves orange grit across my palm.
Don't mend the fence. Its gap is wide enough.
Sunday, come early. I'll put water on.