-- A Summer Afternoon --

John Herlihy

They sat together there on the lake.

The wooden boat rocked gently in its wake.

The summer heat burned oppressive.

His looking at her a thing obsessive.

She sat beside him, so pale and cool.

He sat hot opposite her, feeling a fool.

He saw now the waters shining blue-green.

Its shards of light beckoning him into the unseen.

He looked at the waters as if he were blind.

She watched him knowing what was on his mind.

“You can swim,” she said, “the river is good now.”

“Will you swim with me,” he asked her.

“I have nothing to wear,” she coolly responded.

He felt a delicious freshness flow into his mind.

“Swimming with nothing on can be exhilarating.”

She didn’t feel the need to reply.

“You can undress behind the bushes on the shore.”

“You would look.”

“It would be lovely to look, wouldn’t you look?”

“I would try not to look,” she said smiling.

“How hard would you try?” he asked coyly

Then a brief pause as summer breeze gently blew

“Much harder than you,” she finally said.

“Do you expect that I would not look,”

“I don’t expect anything, but sometimes wonder,”

“How could it be otherwise,” he murmured.

Their voices drifted off, but a tenderness remained.

They both knew how much they were blessed.

It felt as if they had swum together undressed.

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(c) John Herlihy 12 July 2020