no, they are short and prick

up keenly every time I

will hurl a driftwood stick

 

into the waves that leap high

as if they try to catch

it with their foamy fingers

before you come to snatch

 

what's yours and to retrieve it

and have it tossed anew

(till you tire of the game),

which I will gladly do.

 

Your hair is soft and curly,

no, it is straight and flies

when you chase after seagulls

to hear their outraged cries.

 

You are quite tall and slender,

no, you're a meaty guy,

you are the happy medium,

no, only one foot high,

 

yet you'll ooutrun all your peers

when you have seen a friend

who has showed up, tail wagging,

at the bay's other end.

 

You're a little ruffian,

you're of the gentle souls,

you like to frisk and gambol,

no, you take peaceful strolls.

 

You are my beach companion;

I am the one you trust,

and we have each other's back, 

though, sometimes when you thrust

 

your wet nose in my knee pit,

I can get mildly cross,

but then you lift your head, and

your eyes say: "Sorry, boss,"

 

and I forget all anger,

and pet your fleecy neck;

we both savour the moment

until you're off to check

 

out a huge batch of seaweed

to look what hides between

its tangled blades and bladders

and bronzy shades of green.