scratby

this place of child me holiday
council-town-by-the-sea
sixties cheap estate
mud decorated walls

the cliff stair descends into sand
the grubby clean beach
paranoid watching men dog walk
boys charge run-rattle motorbikes

for a moment I'm stolen
loud sings the swelling sea
its siren sound surround
the glamour of end

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

poem

2K3:6

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