King of the castle
I remember, on crested dunes,
grown ups laid on towels in the sun.
I was little then, we were little,
we loved to burrow in our seaside fun.
I remember ice-cream cries and sand eyes
and gulls as big as planes.
The sun burning breeze that coloured the man
who chased his hat and called it names.
I remember the army of deckchairs that paraded
from pier to pier and the jingling donkeys that my mum said
were too dear. Mothers whinnied and worried,
fathers moaned a sigh. Dogs chased and plundered pools
begging for something to fetch.
I remember then, hopping the rolling waves,
skinless scared by seaweed monsters and jellyfish stings.
I marvelled at how far to sea the pier dare tread
as far as I could see.
I remember sweet doughnuts on my salty tongue
and jam fingers that were sticky, they made my dad swear.
There were bingo calls and one armed bandits,
too tall for me, but not my mum.
The poor dogs, bears and rabbits, huddled in their glass
house, begged us to rescue them with the robots claw.
It cost my dad £5 to be my hero. we laughed like the clown,
for hours and hours, until we were spent.
Then we sat beside the sun,
and in the warm farewell breeze
I slept on my dads back and dreamed, happy,
that my sandcastle was the best.
I remember that well.
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