Harbour
by and published in Edition Eleven of Pomegranate
As far as the harbour wall we walked,
‘Kingfisher’ chips, a plastic fork and old news
all in the crash of a wave.
We paved a path for ourselves,
crossed the shingle to the place the tide pushed
a looking hole pebble.
You said it was good luck.
We peered through looking for France,
the pier lights flashing to our right
and there out of site
the lifeboat house.
We fished on fold out chairs
watched as children dived fifty feet
to be swallowed in surf.
You caught a jelly fish,
stared at it through the stone
as it hung to fight death,
its tendrils half eclipsed.