Sunny Cove
Out by the big yellow buoy
I trod water for a few minutes,
longer than I'd have liked,
alone in the company of friends
who may have been alone too.
When we returned to shore,
I returned gladly -
always so gladly, every damn time ! -
counted my limbs to be sure.
I left at least one woman there,
at least one of them left me.
We left each other there,
on the rocks, or on the catwalk,
or somewhere nice nearby.
Of one, I quickly knew
we'd have ruined each other;
I could offer no worship,
another knew in time.
Who saw what, how,
on that beautiful, dire morning
that the spry old lady was taken ?
Did the water swell beneath her
a glance before she was devoured ?
Perhaps those jaws
happened on her with less warning.
Regardless, I counted my limbs;
the spry old lady won't.
14th August 2020
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