A short poem on swimming styles at Leichhardt Pool

On the balcony at Leichhardt Park Aquatic Centre I watch the bodies lapping up and down and observe the different swimming styles.

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That girl’s head is too high and that man’s is way too low.

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If only the woman in the pink cap would reach out further and if she straightened her legs she’d glide through the water like the squad swimmers in the next lane.

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Their movement is effortless and I’m mesmerised by the fluidity and even rhythm of their strokes.

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“Whack, whack,” a man with very pale skin slaps the water hard like my Dad did when he swam his self-taught freestyle.

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And then I think, “what would someone say if they watched me swim?”

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