Beached Poem by chris dawson

Scarecrow, Seagull, Dustbin and me
all set out for a day by the sea.
A jam jar, a bottle, a nest made of twigs,
a chutney from Putney, consisting of figs.
Towels in abundance, sweets by the score,
set right for a night and a day by the shore.

Waves we received and more we now sought,
weighed down to the ground by the kilter we brought.
Boarded the train, the four forty-four,
pulled down the wee blind and then bolted the door.
A shrill whistle followed and outward we shook,
then each beach companion took out a blue book.

So soon as we’d left we seemed to arrive,
I checked with my watch, it was four forty-five,
we alighted then sighted our sunny, wet host,
arrived! we were there! at last by the coast.

Whilst staking the claim of estate on the beach
Scarecrow and Seagull played catch with a peach,
Dustbin just sat with his rim in the sand,
made elliptical circles, I gave him a hand.

A noise out at sea made us stop with a start,
a ship full of onions had fallen apart,
Seagull took off and birdie eye viewed
a carpet of Alliums. that was slick as was crude.
Scarecrow deduced, as he oft was to do,
that we had an ingredient to make us a stew.
Water and salt were handy to hand,
it was fun in the sun to perform the unplanned.

At Seagull’s return we applauded his feat
and explained to our friend that we now needed meat.
Dustbin was filled by a lot more than pride,
as saltwater and onions now brimmed his inside.
Scarecrow agreed he too was impressed,
we’d never seen seagull so near quite well dressed,
as plucked and now gutted he bobbed in the bin,
just two hours later 3 pals tucking in.

We’ll never forget our day by the sea,
Scarecrow and Seagull and Dustbin n me.
‘No friend could enjoy another as us’
said Bin ruminating, going home on the bus,
‘That bird, though absurd, was the height of good taste,
but look all around, he can soon be replaced’.
For friends seldom stay with us, but for a while,
they line, they appear, in distance they file;
a social occurrence it’s hard to explain,
why friendship should happen again and again.
But if like poor Seagull your friends turn on you,
do avoid the dramatic, don’t get in a stew.