I sailed from Exmouth to Durham for supplies,
anchoring near a café off the high street - for bin bags.
Bin bags - I was meant to get bin bags!
I initially went so as I could drop that parcel ashore
to a cove somewhere
somewhere between the mustard and the bread - but I forgot!
I forgot the bin bags!
It was that old salt 'Geordie' who said I was to sail to Durham,
and then sand entered my head
blown up along the seafront.
Sand.
Which sand?
What?
Sand?
Which..?
Sandwiches!
I forgot to wrap the sandwiches
before I stowed the cling-film below deck.
The waves like meringues
brought the cream ashore,
but what of the rest of my list?
I must store those bin bags,
I must do the recycling,
clear the decks,
or those meringues;
like the waves
are going to be history!
But look at those fence panels - sea defences toppled by the gales,
bubbles in the wind,
like...
Wait, bubbles!
Did I finish the washing up?
Why am I holding my wallet?
...bin bags - I need to get bin bags!
Wait - or was it chocolate?
No bin bags!
How could I forget?
I was moored up alongside the shop after all!
aground - like a yacht caught in a whirlpool
I’m standing in the kitchen with a tiller in my hand,
wondering why the lock gates were open,
and why I have my oil-skins on!
Where I’m supposed to be?
Oh! - the shop!
...and bin bags!
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