By the Seaside

By the seaside


I look back on those childhood holidays
when we dug sand with a bucket and spade.
We licked the soft fruit from ice cream sundaes
and sniffed fresh cockles down the promenade.
With frantic rustling the pale bunting flew
from the jaded sea front souvenir shops
that on a grey day we sauntered to view
sweet rock and dummies; postcards and flip flops.
In bitter wind the old vacant deckchair
did stoutly billow out its stripy paunch.
Shrill Punch shrieked at Judy by the fun fair
while pier trippers ate a fish and chip lunch.
With a rug on my lap I watch the sea.
Years don't change the beach but they do age me.