#2,682 Flesh-mounds down

~ mikebellwrites

Flesh-mounds down from
Brighton station’s arrivals
& gates –
cream-ed skin at
a cooking temperature –
a
flock of cocksureish hens –
straggles of young men in
fake togs –
Glasses tipped
on red foreheads & to lips
by all ages of humanity in
that downhill tidal surge –
timetable always applied
at all times –
they head to
that slipping shingle pile –
that quid-sucking beach –
face a sluggish tide & on-
shore breeze –
relief from
London’s claggy grabs at
sweat-soaked clothes –
A
return ticket won’t fix all
that burnt skin –
they’ll be flaking in days