It feels strange to frown
at the heat and brightness
exploding through
my kitchen window.
August was after all
so very bleak and grey.
Great Admiral’s dance close by
and the mackerel skies outside
pull my thoughts and mood
to them magnet-like.
I find myself memory walking
upon a beach in Bude,
barefooted, relaxed and carefree…
Scooting blim burns
off my bare chest,
weaving a cider lollypop
into my easy daydreams.
As I stand like a Serviceman
saluting the deep, blue sea,
watching the small bobbing boats
become a living bathroom watercolour.
‘Oh, this will never do’
I yank myself back out
of my thoughts by the scruff.
I was meant to write a short story
about a man who cuts his own foot off.
But all that can wait, I guess,
whilst this weather will not,
I’ll be in a seaside beer garden
a couple of hours before early evening.
More at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.