At camp, two boys

Something in the comfort's manner, 

like homage. Holds Doyle's flute 

for him while Doyle attends his 

stockings. Quickly shines it with 

his cloth. Doyle takes it back, 

breathes a silent tune, Dryden's 

soft complaining flute. My hero.

Lovers none the less?

It is not impossible. 

They have youth.

Would age forbid them?

Rather youth permits. The not 

knowing and the slowness of the 

days. Lack of imagination may 

move mountains.

Gray morning dulled the bay.

Banks of clouds .. swollen

spumeless tide. Heads that

bobbed like floating gulls

and gulls that floating

bobbed like heads. Two heads.

At swim, two boys.

Jamie O'Neill

At Swim, Two Boys

Scribner, 2001©

Photos from a series by
David Sherman and Peter Stackpole,
lent from a Private Collection.
Rights reserved.