Gorn swimmin’
At the end of me workin’ day
I stops at the beach
ditches me boots
and the rest of me clobber
’cause the sea is me joy
When he was younger
before he was too old
he’d take us to the beach
not that he’d ever swim
he’d rest on his stick-to-fold-out-seat thingo
and watch us play
in the sand
in the shallows
and we, both him and us
would beach our troubles away
The funeral was as good
as funerals can be
a long life well-lived
a well-loved
we walk to the fishing club
tell stories old and new
as the water pats gently at the sand