A Day at the Seaside

Sand is cross

It buzzes in the heat

close together


Sun has dried it and

it falls off rocks and black shoes

like sugar from the side of a shiny bowl


My skin, underneath layers

of coat, nylon, cotton

is frustrated and clogged with salty water


from a swim in the middle of the drowsy day

with other people from our coal town

a place drenched in cloud

who laughed as the soot eased itself off their skin


There is not a part of me that

wants to go back


to a coach

with other people

in hats and coats


to a place where huge slabs of black earth

are no longer making a profit


Every fibre

wants to

skulk back to the edge

of that silky water


And watch the tide relax,

watch it relax forever


Why do we always have to leave at the best part of the day?