Swimming, Below Zero... Poem by Mark Heathcote

We swam in the lake in mid-November.
For a silly, madcap dare.
In the distance, I watched a figure.
With a look of despair.

A man's grimacing eyes watched
Fishing on the far bank
As it happens, my stepfather is crotched-
Legged, looking point-blank.

Pole in hand; gazing above, the rod-tip.
30 minutes, swimming in the lake
One side only, neither one enough equipped?
We'd made a big mistake.

Sure enough, his glances, like the water
We're deeper than our despair.
Soon we'd have to walk back near-naked nuder-
Then if our underwear were made of mohair!

But with my best friend walking by my side,
I still felt unusually warm inside.