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Swimming in the City Reservoir
You can’t swim waters meant for drinking.
I should have known. What was I thinking?
Yet nonetheless, I found it rude
that my skinny-dipping interlude
was ended on that summer’s day
by a cop who wouldn’t look away.
Instead, he watched as I stepped, dripping,
from water one day he’d be sipping.
Picking up and then unfolding
my clothes, I listened to his scolding.
“Lady,” he was muttering,
all worked up and sputtering,
“You cannot put yourself into
The water meant to put in you!”
I woke up with two of the lines in this poem going through my head. I had to go find the other lines to go with them. I was hoping they’d match up with the daily prompt, but it was too far a stretch, so here it is, all alone on its own.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
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Yikes … ! When first moving to Nelson in 1970’s the reservoir was just a large concrete pond, in the woods. Fed by creek. It was rumoured that kids went dipping at night? I never did. Then 20 years on; I found myself walking close by that place and found the trees all gone and a large electrified fence around. With a large building to add the chlorine.. … Progress? Cheers Jamie.
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I often write stuff and hope I can match it to the prompt. Sometimes I can, sometimes not, but it’s fun trying. In Maine, the lake in which we swam and bathed was also the water we used to drink and cook. One lake fit all, including the bass, the loons, the ducks, and moose — who like swimming out to the water lilies for quick crunchy dessert.
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