The warm smell

The warm smell

Of grilled sausages

Drifts across from the

Fire pits

The air heavy

With the tang of onions,

The taste of the sea

Washing them away.

He floated

Unhindered

Dipped below the waves

The salt-bittered flavour

The sting of nostalgia

The wrinkled skin

Of the all-weather swimmers

Looking ready to drop

Loosely hanging

Sagging, bent

Old bodies

Full of laughter

Fit to be children.

Always a blink away

From his own childhood

Carried on the back

Of an old aunt

Thrown into the surf

Tossed like spindrift

The only way to learn.

Nary a thought to the breakers

The under tow

The crash of waves.

There was never a fear

Of drowning

Not then not now

Just a fear of

Being out of his depth

Needing help

In the deep

When his bones gave out

Stones withered.

There would come a time

When treading water

Would not be enough

An uncoordinated chore

Difficult to maintain

But not just yet.