a new poem by david hawtorn splosian

without asking for permission
and without asking for extension
i solidly placed my two feet on the edge of the diving board

the wind lapped at my sides
like the tongue of a dog
and i noticed my toenail was of unusual length

a girl, who must not be named, sat in a lounge chair
her famously dark hair pulled to one side
her nose was firmly laced to a book
the depth, of which, was far beyond her ken

so i trusted that her obvious (but felonious) show of intelligence
was merely the guise of watching my arc
i made the decision to plummet into the early spring depths

with half a sole over the chasm
and while placing my better judgement in a locked cellar
i stole a glance down at my reclining Everything

a page turned and a wisp of hair was tucked behind
how i screamed a deafening silence at her
look up
notice
finally understand

but instead, i felt the chill
and i remembered my sunken chest
the three and a half hairs fluttering in the spring nascence

and i bid myself, "RETREAT! RETREAT!"
like a soldier in a war that he knows he must sacrifice himself for pride,
but, instead, remembers that there will always be wars
and he has a love of warm food and tuneful music,
and a girl back home
and so he runs from the gunfire

and similarly i slunk down the turquoise painted ladder
the dry skin of my feet rippling back like curtains
and i padded across the cement
and past her readerly stare
and sat, alone on a step, listening to a far away bass beat
pound out my childhood from a car in the parking lot