The best, the nicest, poolside thing
Must be a seat in which you swing.
A simple pleasure you would think,
But one day I received a drink
Of nice cold wine just where I sat
And stood – not understanding that
I’d pushed the seat away a bit
So it swung back and firmly hit
Me right behind my half-bent knees.
Then in slow motion, by degrees,
I toppled poolwards, holding high
Against the bright blue Cretan sky
My wineglass as I went in “Flop”:
It didn’t break, nor spilled a drop.
Indeed it is at times like these
One has to have priorities.
