The Salty Shoplifter
The sea is a bit of a liquid brat,
always adjusting his white, foam hat.
He’s got no bones and he’s got no toes
but he follows wherever the north wind goes.
He’s a watery thief with a very long reach,
lifting every plastic bucket left on the beach.
He gulps down the sun like a vitamin pill
and never, not once, has the guy sat still.
He’s got billions of fish tucked deep in his pockets
and salt, crust stinging his old-water sockets.
He’ll roar like a lion, then hiss like a cat
but he’s mostly just loud and he’s mostly just flat.
He’ll tickle your ankles and tug at your shorts,
then mumble a rhyme through his bubbly snorts.
So give him a wave (if you’ll pardon the pun),
before he gets bored and outruns the sun.
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