Beached, Low Tide

For the (fictional) series, "Edges"
His Voice 


Beached, Low Tide

Coy, tiny crabs

hide in their tide-bared tunnels

whose marks pucker but don't despoil

the shell-scattered sand.

The only annoying thing on this beach

is the one smelly blowfish. Inside the corpse

poison is still coiled.

Or so we say, using this fact

to frighten fascinated boys

into leaving it alone.

My boat is buoyed at anchor

just out there.

My lucky coin is in my pocket,

my duffel bag's packed –

but I can't find a ploy to persuade myself

out again across the bar

where the hoity-toity young daredevils go.

To gaze and dream but stay moored is safer.

(Never say joyless.) On the turn of the tide

I head inland.


23/4/18 Linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #400