Death on the Beach

It’s never easy to reach

a conclusion;

and even less easy

to reach a beach,

unless you are near one,

and can travel that way.


“Why the title?” you ask.


Well, gentle reader,

a poem must have a title,

or else untitled it is;

or titled ‘Untitled’

if you do desire,

written by a nun

or a non

in a choir.


“That’s just silly!”

commented the gentle reader,

his boots all aglow.

“What is all this nonsense?”


Aside: ‘The gentle reader must go!’


We met on a beach,

face to face,

toe to toe,

I offered the reader a lifeline,

it was tied to a speedboat just so.

Twice round the harbour,

once round the block,

when he returned,

I had a custard-filled sock.


“Whack!” went the sound effect.


“Ow!” the reply.


Now there was a death on the beach;

and, as to the title: that’s why.

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