the slap and cold clap of the boat-bobbing sea,
salt licked, with weed in its teeth.
Clear as jelly, it wobbles
on the plates of empty oyster shells.
Old ladies turn on their towel spits
and oil their hot brown crackling.
Children flap and prance,
rub sand in their eyes,
and are comforted by proud pale parents,
their suit-bare tattoos
self consciously displayed.
Ah the joy of drawing a breath free
of the stuffy cushion of the mundane!
The paper-cut rasp of salt,
sticky dribble of ice cream, damp crumple of clothes,
Feet basted with hot tar, and the persistent,
gritty embrace of sand, sand everywhere.
Until the muddle and hurry subsides like the predictable sea,
and we throw open the doors to sit mesmerised by fairy light glow,
and the chime of masts in the indigo night.
Copyright Kasia James 2013