Pool

Sun glances across water
we turned blue with ceramic tiles; I’m proud, content, selfish, shallow.

Highway echoes and midnight dreams
lights flashing white ahead and red arrears
arteries filled with platelets
different shapes and colors
husks of varying concentrations, with otherworldly interiors,
beings somehow manipulating the mass, individually
and like all the other cars moving to and fro.

Yet, my pool is nice. I like it. It gives me satisfaction. 

What is that in these ever-colouring cycles, spins and spins and spins;
tornado currents of atoms that crash, combine, and spin again; I like the pool. I bought it. 
I bought it with my money.
My children swim in it.
They have their friends over and they swim in it too.
Tadpoles swimming while the old ones croak.
Will they own pools too?