The sand stings here.
It is dry, cloud-soaked,
lifted feathery
and sucked inland on sharp
sea exhalations.
Fluffing debris from hair,
pinging cheers chime
with teddy-bear bells
as I part money in jest.
Waltzers dance behind.
Screams scowl down the rails
of rolling cages
as lights tanned by age
and sand
flash, flash and clash
with long shorts,
tank tops, sheltered shops
with spades and flip-flops.
Wind wraps around
the sound of falling tuppence,
and prying child-arms.
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