The Dragon's Back

We dived from the dragon’s back, stretching concrete pier,
From its spine into the blood warm sea on a day sunbaked
So that even the ocean seemed as salt encrusted as focaccia,
You tried to find the bottom, wanting oysters and pearls,
It was so typical of you, carefree, idiotic, devil may dare,
Your foot got bite-caught in the wire cage of a lobster pot,

Empty of angry, snapping captives, which was fortunate
For your toes; we saw one hand fear flapping like a wet fish
Your head apple bobbing a fraction above the brimmed waves,
You could reach the surface, just about, from foot clamped
Sea bed - Men rose, brown shouldered, flinging themselves
In to save you, returning you toothful of grinning and pearl-less.

They were always your ideas, assented, nodded at suggestions;
That time you said we should owl and pussycat launch
Ourselves on a surfboard, not strong enough yet to hold the sail,
Floating later, sullen, canvas suckered to water, a dead wing,
We sat cross-legged staring at a giant crab, adrift, on its back,
Pink claws akimbo, waiting for the fin of Jaws, both trembling.

Or the Pedallo Incident: when we pluckily ventured out, captains
Of our vessel, without any sense or destination, frantic, little knees
Knocking, turning erratically, propelling the cumbersome, white hunk
Of plastic as we realised we had lost all sight of land, dots, helpless
On the horizon: rescue services picked us up sternly five hours later,
How I loved to jump in after you from that long, grey line of pier.