Not waving but drowning

The sea was rough today, a dirty muddy colour with a pale frothy surf.

But still people were in the water, jumping high every time a huge breaker approached and seemingly being carried effortlessly beyond it so that it crashed below rather than on top of them.

Yet every time I see the bobbing heads and waving arms, I can't help thinking of a poem by Stevie Smith:

Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.

There are no life guards, of course, on this beach as on many others. Even if there were, would they be able to tell the difference between a man who's waving and one who's drowning? Literally and metaphorically speaking.

Would anyone?- I wonder.

Would you?

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he's dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning.