Rockpool

Armed with my fishing net and red bucket,

I would clamber over sharp black rocks, dank

With slippery seaweed which carpeted

That quiet world, far from sunnier sands.

Other children’s distant voices floated

In and away, while I would make sly grabs

For jelly worms, and dip my cruel net

Into still waters, to catch a rash crab,

Or a wriggling, see-through, pearly-grey shrimp.

I was always alert for sea horses

And magical starfish; I pried limpets

Off rocks and popped open mermaids’ purses.

Sandalled feet made no ripple in that pool

As I edged towards a deep den, narrow,

Frond-curtained, certain to contain a jewel;

A clam, or an urchin in its burrow.

That dire haven for sea life was for me

A bright paradise. No concept of guilt

Darkened my soul as I plucked anemone,

Beached prawns, and filled winkles with sand and salt.