Country Club by Ed Stone

I am not a silent poet

The swimming pool was constructed 

smartly in the shape of a martini 

glass and has a bomb-shaped 

escalator runs on oil brings 

them to the flesh-tiled poolside 

those members with olive pit faces 

stare at the empty pool waiting 

for it to fill while people with 

peeled onion smiles observe from 

the windows of the clubhouse and 

directors’ cracked ice heads can 

be seen observing from windows 

of the administration building 

all are waiting for the pool to 

fill slowly the pool begins filling 

with blood this what they all 

have been anticipating there is 

a water shortage but what the 



Ed, who grew up in New York City, lived from 1918-1977. He went through the Normandy invasion as a machine gunner and the horror stayed with him.  He worked the last number of years of his life as a newspaper reporter in Novato, California.  During his life…

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