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
over sands.
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.

Simon French

In memory of Lee Gormley (1982 – 2015)

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Simon French
would be pleased to hear them.