At The Beach

Sagging kapok beds, sea’s wash and moan,

sun yellowing papers, streaming over our lives,

wishing for nothing more, no will to move;

anglers in works gumboots, white and stolen

crossing a shingled shore to whip high rods at sun.

We watched lazily, the lazy,

as kahawai died bled  in the sun.

Something to do. On a Saturday.

Lettuces leaned in the wind:

a garden for all in silty soil;

Formica tables and chairs,

stick-on flowers on the cupboards,

ratty carpet on creaking floor –

our comforts – our place.

All gone, save the beach,

reaching down for its kiss-curl waves

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1 thought on “At The Beach”

  1. Filled with NZ ‘icons’, John, the formica, the gumboots ‘white and stolen’, and the beach of dainty ‘kiss-curl’ waves, You’ve laid it out all before us!

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