Aldeburgh Beach

The giggling children circle,
orbiting the grown-ups like hungry seagulls
round a fish-fattened trawler. But

soon bored of their elders’ bad habits -
their drinking and smoking and speaking in tongues -
the kids exile themselves
to talk their own secret languages.

This convivial family group hasn’t shifted all day.
A hamper on the hot pebbles half-empty now,
though there’s always more wine to be found.

The sea’s been and gone again;
the sky blushes red on the horizon -
as if embarrassed at its souring clouds
moving in like a migraine from the periphery.

A rainbow of refracted light
shimmers for a moment
over this secular congregation,
like a poorly-timed Second Coming.

Sunk deep in their deckchairs,
no-one pays attention to this
charity shop resurrection.

Maybe tomorrow HE will try again?
Though, by then, hangovers will
surely be the only King in town.

A spy:
I observe this scene jealously.
It feels
untouchable.

Near Spurn Point

The Avenues