Saturday, December 22, 2012


She trails a stick behind her
Walking on the foam where
Waves meet the sand
Bares her youth in her belly
Flat, feminine and tanned
Hidden behind shades I
Pretend not to see
She flashes a smile
I know
She sees right through
Old fool me

A waterman his face is split
By wind and salt and sand
Cracks so deep his skin looks
Like old pavement
Emerges from a Kombi
Rolling tobacco
Making tea
I wave he nods
Looks quickly
And out to sea

Dusted cinnamon by Sun
They are drawn
A place of gathering
Tonight a fire will glow
Out near the point
I will still be there
Angels may arrive tomorrow
Today don't bother me
On the beach and in the Sun
The Golden Breed

Shoreham 23/12/12

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