Unburied

This concrete dent     is choked with leaves        from last Autumn and Winter     and
now new vines        from this Spring that wades           deeper into the sea of heat,
nearing the drop-off          into the uncharted depths      of Summer.              Only
memories remain      of the chlorine      -       filled water that once lived      in this pool,
         rain lurking     in the deep end,   stained and battered and coated      thickly with
slippery algae.                  Of course,   frogs use their legs as paint brushes         and
make artistic strokes           across         the deep end’s surface,   bugs wriggle over the
dampened concrete,          and something vaguely human        floats half in the water
        infused with earthy tints,                and half rotting over       mold and mildew like
an over ripened      plum with its deteriorating      flesh breaking down into a serum-y
pulp,              pulling away from the skin and         seeping through the spot           the
fruit once used           as its seat.       The thing has been dead        for quite some time,
         the new residents suspect that it                 and the pool have history,           that
they were once close friends         when they were both new and vibrant      and alive
           and in the melting summers          of their youth.            They leave it there,
out of respect.            They’re sure they’d like to be          together in death,              to
decay and       dilapidate in harmony,        to not be alone as    the sun of their lives
sinks beyond the horizon.                 To be unburied in unison.