The pool is full of lizards.
It’s unclear how it happened.
We were out there with a skimmer,
the sun warming our shoulders.

It reeks of malice and spoiled meat.
The lizard talking points grate on the ears,
all hisses and sibilants.
The inner lids closing, opening.

Their flesh patched and scabrous,
they slither across one another.
Hardly room for the float chair anymore.
The seat occupied, lizards living the dream.

We are a nation of lizard brains
demanding recompense for the myth
that we were central to it all –
that we somehow deserved the best spot.

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