Swimming at Villa Copenhagen

From the pool I see
sunny blue with only
a few wispy white clouds.

Last night, my tired husband
called the amusement park
“the Frivoli Gardens.”

From its flying swings,
some screaming rings out—
the song of the frivoli.

Alongside my laps,
the businesslike windows
have gone all Magritte blue,

as if the wall were only a shell
holding back the sea
forever and ever,

as if there were another,
world where I would never
have to get out of the pool—

or maybe a world where climate change
only meant the turn of the seasons
and kids could once again ice skate and build snow forts.

I even dream of a Frivoli world
where everyone could swim in this pool
and fly on those swings.

Lorna Wood lives in Auburn, Alabama. Her flash fiction has appeared in Every Day Fiction, Wild Violet, and Every Writer, among others. Her poetry has appeared in her collection, The Great Garbage Patch (Alien Buddha Press), and in many magazines on five continents.