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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