Along the esplanade
with bucket and spade,
sandcastles to build on the beach.
Tourist tat,
‘dingie’s’ and ‘hats.’
‘Union jacks twenty pence each.’
The oil tanker aground
shed its blood all around
Black treacle, an impossible glue.
Strong Smelling,
soon gelling
to my clothes and the sole of my shoe.
Flightless, lifeless now the gull,
Its plumage black as gall.
‘Don’t touch it dear,’
‘Don’t get too near’
‘Job for a professional!’
The conservationist
in blackened yellow
waders, plastic gloves,
scours the beach with empty container
for the wildlife that he loves.
Where shingle meets sand,
he comes to stand,
gazes the horizon, so sad
I watch him cry,
and wish that I
Could help him work it out.
He too an earthbound, flightless gull,
What shipwreck cost him buoyancy?
Once content to float upon the tide,
Now at the mercy of the sea.
