mumbling of mumbles
down the long down streets under a castle cupped in sun
run the pubbed and chappeled ways all the way to a bay
of days cockled and mudded far and away way out out
to a tideline lost in the haze of a believing that
by this evening it will be lapping the sea wall
opposite the mermaid and the pilot and the georges
of the infamous mumbles mile while we wander
as aimless as aimless was meant to be at our inhalations
of salt and vinegar on fish and chips and of course
go on my son and have another one for the crazy golf is
of course as coloured as any sunset through the
leaves of the trees that purloin the gulled boats
drawn up high and mightily dry and rattling their lanyards
at even the slightest breeze that counts our steps
along the promenade at southend to end at
the end of the pier show of fisher if-men and a
lifeboat tolled of untold tragedies and a gift shop
of parodies and a pub of melodies in chorus to
the high bells on a swell pulling on anchor chains
and buoys as yellow as mustard on any hot dog
that could not compete or any of the flowerbed’s
pretensions from the council east of the slipways
green slimed slipping and mothered under the shrieks
of kids and dogs cross-leashed in their growling at
the end of a day’s outing totally satiated by the
realisation that the names of the rocks might just
trail a sea tendril or two way back to the true
oystercatcher days before the fields were housed
with these wandering lanes spidering all the way
up to that very same castle pale in the milk moon
watering down the village lanes to slumbering seas
beaches and everything that made this a day
the preternatural being and seeing that everything
has been done and done proper like all day long
and all in just the tide of one day’s long excursion
No comments:
Post a Comment