Striated, and held fast through fume -
I take my board out onto opal ocean,
The wind, drifts in, as the tide drifts out -
Danger is on the air, but the sun burns, refusing to be triumphed by the cold -
It's bold, here, to be so out on a limb -
Paddling through the watery fortress, taking on Neptune -
Head on was the only way I ever knew:
(Long been found out to be true)
Such joy to be witnessed by my Mother -
The pictures and videos hardly being the main driving point
By a country mile, it's about the moment and experience,
The joined up, liminal connectedness of mother and son -
And the hilarity of geographical embarrassment at the location of where to swim,
Standing in the cue for a coffee, with only by board-shorts and coat on, some call
It red October, I guess either way, I'm bold for making something of the day,
At least we have tea cakes and coffee,
And some chirruping teenagers,
This isn't the end, Mother
This isn't the end.