On The Beach. Poem by Michael Walker

Sunday afternoon-time to drive to Castlecliff.
Maybe to have a swim: maybe not.
Maybe to lie on the sand: maybe not.
Today no swimmers are to be seen,
no one for the lifeguards to scan;
no sunbathers on the sands either,
instead a collection of whitish logs
like relics that do not belong.
The red-and-yellow flags are fluttering though,
a reminder of potential danger out there.
I know that a young lad drowned here
on Christmas Day-unspeakably sad.
I paddle along the wavy shoreline,
'Should I swim or not? 'I wonder.
I decide to flag it for another day.
The lifeguards are packing up now;
time for me to log out as well,
and drive back to the motel pool.