Learn to Swim

A poem about sandcastle cities

Aug 16, 2026

First draft

By dawn the masons left the walls
to dry beside the sea.
A nurse unlocked the clinic doors;
schoolchildren crossed the quay.

The planners’ map, beneath its glass,
showed drains in lines of blue.
The clerk stamped every building safe.
The monsoon bulletin withdrew.

Along the seawall, screens displayed
new towers, white and dry.
Behind them, women cleared the silt
while helicopters crossed the sky.

At noon the river entered rooms
the survey marked as high.
It lifted ledgers from the court
and beds where patients lie.

The clinic lamps went out at three.
The school bell struck below.
A child watched alphabets dissolve
where blackboard waters rose.

Upstairs, the council met by phone.
Its seal remained in view.
They read the regulations twice
and found them sound and true.

By evening, roofs moved through the streets.
The maps stayed under glass.
The rules remained in force all night.

The city did not last.