Daddy's Swimming Lesson

I see sandaled feet,
dusty,
and cut-off
denim shorts
with frayed,
bleached strings,
and a hairy, muscled
chest over which
a bearded
face grins.
Baring his feet,
he picks me up,
and wades in deep,
then tosses me in the air.
I land
cannon-balled
into the Sunday afternoon
lake.
He throws us all.
We pile on his
shoulders and back
as he swims,
our life preserver.

-Rachel Johnson, 1993