Maybe Old but Not Daft
He knew what
Her game was
He had seen it all before
The scanty two piece
The selfie, the pursing of lips
And the pouting
But under the circumstances
For him, trying to look interested
Was far easier said than done
After all, he was
An old man of the sea
And rarely spoke of nothing but
Harbours, of tides
Of jetties, the moon
And of marina’s and quays
But show him
A measure of sailcloth,
A rope makers awl, or an anchor
Then he be nobody’s fool, but a
Bloomin good fisher, a sailor, a husband
a father and friend through n through ..