Letter to Maryport
I love your sea-whipped streets
the evenings of enforced Bingo silence
in your Old Folk’s Home
the crunch of our sherbet
heard above dobber concentration.
I love family walks on your sea-wall,
we don’t notice the odd syringe
suggesting a less than perfect life
I love all the patties – potato/meat/potato
battered and fried
and free bags of greasy fish bits and salt
The breathlessness after the climb
to see Great Aunties.
The call of the slot machines
and grass sleds of Silloth
a walkable distance of seven miles
felt much longer
with the hindering assistance of sand.
A donkey ride on Allonby beach,
“Avoid stray land-mines”
say the signs.
We take our empty Barr bottles back,
claim the penny for each.
We ignore the people combing the beach
for this avenue of income.
Now, when I go back to your seashore
I notice poverty the young and protected me
A desperation in the coddled eyes
of the last old men who used to work the sea.
epistolary poem - day 20 NaPoWriMo Sarah L Dixon - quite notey at the moment!