Poetry by Maureen Wilkinson


This poem is included in my collection THE BLINDMAN GOES FROM A TO B published by Peterloo Poets. A signed copy may be PURCHASED HERE...


After we had double-hemmed the sand's perimeter
we sat for a while outside the cliff-top café
in order to watch the sea's respiration
on the shore.  All around us people were drinking tea
or waiting for teas to be served.
On the beach below a small boy
was running continuously back and forth with the ocean's pendulum.
Into the edge of each receding wave he was pouring
a spadeful of dry sand.
At three o'clock the tide began to turn.
Meantime, as orders became ready in the kitchen
the café owner shouted out their numbers.
'Eighty-nine.' 'Ninety.'
'Ninety-one'.  'Ninety-two.'
A moment later, 'Ninety-three.'

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