The lifeguard has been asked to help
clearing the tables in the health club café.
The red of his shorts are ketchup smears
on lowdown, fake leather booth seats.
His yellow t-shirt is a squashed chip on his flip flop
and his shoulders are diving bricks sinking.
I ask what he prefers:
saving vulnerable kids in pools
or saving grumpy adults from messy tables?
He says,
“They are two very different things,”
and I watch our conversation drown
like his thumb in that pot of leftover beans.

Carl Burkitt 2025