Pool Pickup

for Chris Peckett

I was splishing and splashing at the shallow end;

sploshing and splashing, wanting a friend.

Swimsuit-clad women doing eager lengths,

whilst I crouched in the corner panting for breath.

On the tail-end of a length a girl came my way,

a brunette siren – I’d need something to say.

I saw a face coming closer, hands parting water,

then she rose, making ripples,

and her breasts made me falter.

(Her boobs were more like floating devices –

like buoys out at sea preventing a crisis.)

She came to the end, eager to go.

I longed to grab hold so she’d take me in tow.

But what to say? Hello, love,

they say we’re different strokes,

but let me give ‘em a feel – show me the ropes.

Or come here often? Fancy havin’ a swim?

There were many things to be said on a watery whim.

But all that came out was a weak wheezy ‘whaaaaa....’

It’s safe to say my pool pickup failed.

She left me behind on the jetty of fate

and made for the deep end, my sensuous mate.

I did one more length and recoiled in cramp.

Fuck it, I thought, I’m going home for a wank.