Meanwhile, In Cleethorpes…

G2CleethorpesRR-1024x648Guillemots gant as the sea flees

the estuary leaving an infinite shore

of mud and mussels stinking in the off-tide sun.

 

Gulls and pomerines skewer two penn’orth

of chips dropped in the grease queasy aftermath

of waltzer and helter-skelter swirling.

 

Henderson’s – and papers imported for one

week only – streaking the prize with tasty

black veins and a reminder of home.

 

Sunday best and damp gaberdines steaming,

apricated in the intermittent holiday drizzle; pockets

hide a stash of ha’pennies and farthings saved

 

for shrieking clockwork clowns and drunken

sailors – wide eyed and hysterical – prisoners

of the East Coast Riviera. Every year the same…

 

a chara’ to the last resort and the pink ‘un

by the sea. A moment away from the works inferno

as the kids run riot on a brisk and turbid beach.

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