Your Last Day on Earth
You were found on a beach towel. Gulls
hadn’t investigated. Earlier
you’d walked with shoes held
like hanging fish. Stopped off at a faux-palm bar,
sipped cocktails while its radio frisbeed pop
Some girls reported you’d appeared happy,
were amused seeing your bare chest
brag its way into the sea.
It was a pot-roast of an afternoon & later
they claimed, you all chatted
while a breeze frisked you dry.
Even the gods of the riptide
nodded in deference. They considered you
wiser than shark & drowning man. Watched you
fall asleep on your towel.
Hope you like this rewrite. You always
wanted to go to the coast.
A million miles from the bedsit
they found you in. Full of used needles.
Huddled in your duvet.
In memory of Lee Gormley (1982 – 2015)
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Simon French would be pleased to hear them.