WHALE BEACHING ON THE SPIT

Whales beached

Standing in this chilly water
– soaked up to my thighs –
I’d like to get some breakfast
but I still can hear their cries.

Ham and eggs beckon.
Coffee sounds divine,
but we’ve got these lumps of blubber,
dying in a line.

If I wade up to my knickers,
we could push one back to sea.
I could nip home at eleven
for a bite of toast and tea.