Seagulls make their call
All over that old song by Procul Harum
How close then the sea I ask myself
What distance to the gleam of salted water
Bentos Sketchbook lays on top
Of the ladies golden-handled carrier bag
The bag is embroidered, festooned with brocade
I wonder at the time taken in its assembly
Tomorrow it will carry beach towels
Suncream, a few very personal nic-nacs
To give the day a surety of purpose
On Wednesday next we will go home
This poem is from the collection
