Lately i’ve been enjoying the eastside
Of the beach, to the left of the pier,
A mile or two down
Where the people are sparse and
The stones seem plentier, it’s
All so much prettier there.

Dotted about
The seagulls are at rest, cooped up
Into a nest of equilibrium
Between earth and sea, I
Have found myself mimicking
These coastal fiends, as I too perch
Onto the world and wait
But unlike these natives I do not
Know what I wait for.

The sound of authenticity
Hurries along the downtime,
Of late Lennon has found
Himself in my ear
But I do not think he knows
Why he arrived here, and
I do not think I have the
Means to tell him.

This place where I sit, this
Man-made beast wedged
Between two crowds
Of pebbles and weeds, this
Place is where i’ve found
Resonance with time
And all her happenings,
Where I go to watch the
World function as she should.

Middle aged men find
Themselves stripped down and
Engrossed in the cold waters, I
Am in awe of the freedom
They exhibit and
I wonder if they know
Their limits ? There
Is beauty in their playfulness,
For a brief moment
They revert to innocence,
I do not think they came
To impress me but alas
They make me laugh,
Something even the waves
Have failed in recently.

And in these waves,
Waves on the brink of winter
That foam the edges
Of my shoes and spit
Salt and purity at my face,
These waves carry
The sound of a girl
Who cried wolf, I fear
This is only my reflection,
Fragmented between
The ripples, alas
The sea does not stop
For me to ask questions.

Time dances along, maybe it
Is her I see in the ebb and flow
Of the emerging tide ? Or maybe
She lingers in the man
Who owns the red kayak, he’s
Only a few metres from where I sit
But his mind is far off, I wonder
Where he wishes he could be, I
Do not think it is France, for that
Place is much too far, and
I do not wish him to stay in his
Kayak for much longer, but
That does not seem to be
An option.

And the girl will cry wolf, perhaps
This fact of life is why
I find myself glued to
The beach on the eastside and
Not with the free minds
To the right of the pier, perhaps
This is why I grow older
With each visit and why
The middle aged men
Have found their
Youth again.