I find a sheltered place
Here among the sand dunes
Behind me, the muted roar of the waves
In front of me, directly, remnants of hawthorn
Turned, black, and grey, and spiky
By the days of midday sun
Today my lunch is, a mindfully eaten
Prawn and mayonnaise sandwich
On wholemeal bread
Rather less mindfully
I guzzle the zero sugar Sprite
A sort of poor man’s lemonade
That I write this is exactly
As how I thought a shelter ought to be
Exactly how I imagined
That a writer might find his place
For the words not to be worried
But thoughtful, at one with the world
If it was ten degrees warmer
If the sea could be clear and blue
If the creepy crawlies
Did not creep all over my page
If all of that were true my friend
This would not still be such a quiet place
Of course I do not
Have to take an aeroplane
Or climb aboard
A luxurious small yacht
Which would take me
Down the Adriatic coast
From Split to Dubrovnik
All the while with eighteen other couples
Whom I may or may not care for
Although, in any event, I am quite sure
A very different sort of shelter
Would be formed
