THE OTHER TOM DALEY

for JD

Didn't dive. Couldn't swim. Was afraid of the water.
Never put a foot in. Wouldn't look at rivers or pools. 
He never received marriage proposals on twitter.
Wasn't asked to make a calendar or sticker book
He was shy. Conscious of his weight and looks.
Wore baggy shirts and baseball caps to family dos.
He never once made a speech or spoke on television.
The local news were clueless to his mum's profession.

THE DIVER

10 metres high, the diver

is tightening his calves,

preparing the spring of a mousetrap

that, sprung, will rebound,

through his quads, potential

that powers him skywards

through swimming pool echoes.

At the apex, the abdominals

flex, mid twist, to lift 

legs into a pike that carves

somersault, somersault, somersault

from a second of air.

At this speed he should bomb

on the surface, but snaps

a near-miracle from his momentum

to break water flat, straight

and firm. His fingers and hands

and arms and head and pectorals,

his buttocks and legs and feet,

his toes slip through a rip entry,

a gasp, the splash of a pebble

that ripples a moment and goes.

Below, his body is caught

and softened, returned to applause.