Seaford Beach

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

Do you want to sit on that strand
with me and my old sun-tarred men
of Seaford – bent to sipped coffees –
as Newhaven’s headland is scorched?

Or do you take a click-clack walk
into other light on your fuck-me heels
with no one man you really know?

Tipped families and broken open souls
forever perambulate up and in and out
along tugging – dialling-down – shadows
as you decide which is your way to take

And my eyes will wait – still wait to follow
your choice – my own steps only echo
if yours are not into that sunset’s pull

because my last light will always be
seated and fixed among my equals –
those smile-tanned and happy talkers
without a wet desire to set to flames

Our true separation commenced
when you went with old lustrous ways –
too many times – too easily – for my liking

Mike Bell Poetry

Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap. By then he should be about 85 years old and have out-gunned PD, dementia, and the end of days. Possibly. Before the floods and fires. Mike Bell is found working for money as a freelance set designer.

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