Day Trip
Leave it all behind. There’s no room for your baggage,
but your togs, towel and the factor 50 promise.
Sail the roads west.
Teenage freedom is in the bottom of the lidl bag,
clung by ice-creamed fingers, up the grassy dunes.
In summer’s kindly kiss. A freckled pretty face.
The Brave’s charge into the cold. In the flirtatious slide tackles.
These easy feelings. Is there a hidden weight
to the sandy socks, to all our fate’s?
Remember friend, when grey tides are high
The blues and hues of Enniscrone’s sky.
Where sand is soft and the world might yet rhyme.
Maybe there you’ll realise.
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