Every night, I float on the pool.
And every night, he watches me.
The caretaker is scarred. Surly. He walks with a limp and barely speaks. Most residents in our building are afraid of him, but not me.
I want him closer.
Feeling his eyes on me every night at the pool–it brings my body surging to life. He may be older; may be brutish. May pretend he’s not looking at me at all.
But I know better.
The caretaker wants me.
And I’m tired of looking. I want his touch.