Swish-sh-sh . . ., swish-sh-sh . . ., swish-sh-sh . . .,
The waters of Bass Strait continue their relentless
March to the steep, sandy, picturesque Portsea Back Beach,
On the Mornington Peninsular. Highly hazardous
For surfers, and those who inevitably overreach.
Mature dunes overlay the calcarenite rock below.
A single, remnant rock stack defies the rip offshore.
Folk paddle, jumping waves, careful where they swim and go,
Others content to lie back, enjoying the warmth and more.
I sit lost in thought, mesmerised by the rise and fall
Of the waves, wondering what went wrong in sixtyseven
When Prime Minister Holt disappeared. What did befall
Harold Holt near this beach? Was he kidnapped by a Russian?
I watch a freighter steaming closer from Cape Otway.
Time for me to go, after this pleasant, restful day.