scratby

this place of child time holiday
rough-town-by-the-sea
a sixties cheap estate
walls like gales blow mud

the cliff stair falls beneath the sand
of the grubby clean beach
paranoid watching men dog walk
boys charge run-rattle motorcycles

and for a moment I'm stolen
for loud sings the swelling sea
its siren peace sound surround
offers the glamour of nothing

I turn my back to that call
it's not my time to answer
the sea rolls like drums roll
I know one day I'll belong

image: poem

2K3:6

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