There’s a seal in the harbour

fat as a bottle,

hankering after the “Jeanne Marie”.

The fisherman ignores

the black unblinking plea

but we, on the quayside,

wish he’d throw

a fish.

And I wish I was in the water too.

I want to squeeze his tight bulk to me,

feel the brush of hard whiskers

smell his ocean breath.

Want that ease of motion ...

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