Today I found a shady, grassy glade

amongst the banksias

between the dusty road and the roaring sea.

For once, I sat and beach-read:

poems about ageing, dementia, death,

obliquely angled

at subjects that cause terror.

I ventured in amongst wild breakers

only so far, not too far,

and yet I felt the dragging sea.

I braced myself in sand

and faced the monster firmly.

But still it chivvied me

and shoved me fast and fierce

to where I did not want to be,

tumbled helpless in a swirl of sand.

I stumbled shorewards,

safe this time

to seek the refuge offered by the shade,

poems about

ageing, dementia, death,

no longer so oblique.