Saturday, 11 May 2013


Tight Lines

They amble hand in hand along the leas
He with a fleece like the lining of a dog's bed
She with a scarlet anorak
That jars against her leaden hair

Two fishermen are setting up along the shore
One is thrusting a long rod into the shingle
The other a puny tent for both to shelter in
Should the lenient wind pick up

Two girls in crimson helmets pedal by
Calling to each other on their rusting tricycles
Their torn black leggings hustling eagerly
In three wheeled synchronicity

The twitching fishing lines are out
Linking the land's edge with the gravelly sea
Watched by the fishermen in dungarees
Sitting stoically together on the stony beach

A short legged hoodied woman passes by
Her tethered Dachsund trotting by her heels
His restless tail jerking like an agitated rod
His face turned up to hers adoringly

'We're in!' I hear the fishermen exclaim
As one begins to pull a flatfish from the surf
Its wide eyes fixed in startled rage
Against tight, intrusive lines

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