July 11, 2022

The Coast by Jonathan Butcher

Across a coast line now exposed
by this blurry eyed afternoon,
we see a quilt of damp, darkened sand,
speckled with fragmented litter,
like lines of barnacles on frayed
ropes.

On the curve of that concrete
wall, we perch ourselves
with little balance, our mouths
and eyes stuffed with the sight
of waves that attempt a pathetic
crash, neither warm or deceased,
under the wings of gulls.

The slow stench of the harbour ships,
that awaits us outside the corroding
hotels and bars, that serve from cut price
glasses as dim as false diamonds.
We can almost hear the click of crab claws
from cupped ears, but wisely decide against it,

We scrape our hands across the promenade,
break through what little light is on offer
this time of year, as we take that final
exit towards the station, a break undeserved
as we return to our usual rancid, unescapable beach.


Jonathan Butcher has had poetry appear in various publications including The Morning Star, Mad Swirl, The Rye Whiskey Review, Picaroon Poetry, Sick Lit, Cajun Mutt Press and others. His fourth chapbook 'Turpentine' was published by Alien Buddha Press. He is also the editor of the online poetry journal Fixator Press. 

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