Thursday, 22 September 2011

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.

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