Saturday, 5 October 2013

My Seaside Retreat

A glint of flame red illuminates the chimney tops,
Sunrise in my seaside retreat.
Gulls in aerial combat screech a fanfare for the new day.
The hopeless and the lost yawn long in Lowestoft.
Pebbles glisten on the Blue Flag beach,
The aged sit silently with their flasks of tea.
Pubescent mothers promenade their babies by the sea,
Young men with chins on chest hide inside their hoods.
Old men drowning in a torrent of booze,
Bedsit people languish in the shadows.
The North Sea lets out a despairing cry,
 "Lowestoft, Lowestoft, when did you die?"