Today, I tell Daddy,
I will catch something alive.
We go to the beach; we hunt,
comb the grey pools at low tide,
search the heaps of smelling weed.

Nothing scuttles, nothing swims,
Nothing breathes through throbbing gills.
Nothing at all I can keep.

Just some wine-coloured blobs -
Sea anemones.
Soft little putties, squat blebs.
Catch fish?  Ha!  Not them.
Not worthy of a poke.

I have nothing to put in my bucket.
Just an empty limpet shell and some weed.
Inside lives my pet leech, called Sarah.

One day, much too old to care, I
find a rock pool full:
a tiny world in diamond detail,
crabs sidling, shrimps waggling, weed drifting.

And a sea anemone –
A scarlet lion’s mane
A jet of jellied fire
A thing to fear and respect,
Waving its tentacles in serene, measured malevolence.