There she is, swinging, Heels burning, an Eel stuck in a rectangle. There she is, burning, Radiant, nostrils flaring, And out of the lycra Peep her hands, a dash of white: an Egg yoke hurled, or a snowflake. A Zebra running without its stripes, or a dyed Eagle. “Eel Appeal” headlines would say or just Appeel. Perhaps. She down- Gles, clutching the rope, her skin Like slipping soap. Her Eastern blue scales are ripe: she Dives. An Inky line crossing the page, peppering blue before Eclipsing. Only, in the arena, a Sheet shivers with whiteness.