By The Poolside

As I look at the bruise on my knee
Children gush by, bubbling.
Not quite neutralised by sunshine,
It dwells dully nuclear:
Its cloud colour makes me smile.
Pure flesh fills the pool,
Churning the water to butter.
But I prefer my leg,
For all its flaws.
Skin that melts into sea and sand
And sticks to the sun
Needs a gutting to make it more real.
To bloom so colourless
Requires sorcery.
The swimming witchlings wither
As I return to my blood-bite.
It wasn’t there yesterday –
Where did it spring from?
It’s proof that I didn’t emerge,
Fully formed, at the last blink.
I’m not hollow, I have veins,
My mystery-mark is a saving stain.
Something to save for a rainy day.

The water-bastards did this to me.
On a cattish night they came for me
To cripple me while I slept.
And now they’re laughing as they swim.

The truth is, I woke up that night.
I knew their gift would be mascara.
And though I should have kicked up a fight,
I’m glad I didn’t,
Because my bruise becomes me.