Poem #2,714 | Return Tickets

Balcombe Viaduct marks us
as over that line into Sussex
[but not a county border by
cartographer’s pen] – This is
now less track to follow [we
recline in seats – face to face
& plugged into sung words]
& we will then step out – me
& you put on Brighton’s hot
paths – one thousand yards
at least – then that filthy sea
between piers – We know all
those cafes & bars that pour
beer & coffees to any beach-
comber – a walk east or west
for us some days – Huts bolt-
fast face out without keys in
rusted locks to tease absent
owners back – We are return
ticket holders [to this town]