The tale I want to tell
started in this seaside town's Montpelier Road in 1978
My mate Tony and myself went out
to walk beside the seaside,
the moon a new minted coin.
And something on a concrete groyne was shining.
Tony said to me, 'It's a fish!'
Further inspection proved that no correction was required.
It was a fish.
And we guessed the lashing killed it
when the splashing tide had spilled it,
this, our bloody, blinding finding
without fishing or a fee.
We got the benefit in Brighton
from the lightening of the ocean's load
and we took that midnight mackerel back
to make tomorrow's tea.