The Stanzas By the Sea

I when the world had no headsets the sunbathing crowd fell asleep to the sounds of transistors played loud while the deckchairs and windbreaks kites, beach balls and more formed the stripes, lines and circles that painted the shore and the longer I walked on the sand to that sea the more the sea seemed to get further from me and the crunch in my mouth was that one grain of sand in the sandwich I ate from my sand covered hand while the lemons and melons and plums I'd watch spin would stop short of a cherry one click from a win and the postcards we sent from the end of the pier had us writing such half truths as "wish you were here." II from the end of the pier through the stiff breeze and spindrift I can still hear the tunes of the promenade bands and I can still see the stripes of the deckchairs and windbreaks and the box kites and beach balls that painted the shore and I can still taste the butter - warm like the canned ham and the crunch of that sand in the sandwich I had and I can still hear the djs laughing and talking spinning hits of the sixties from transistors played loud and I can still smell the onions frying wild in the fairground to the sound of the claxons and the lemon. click. orange. click. melon. click. click. and I can still breathe the deep smoke swirling in sand dunes from their benson and hedges and player's no.6 and I can still see those grown ups staring at mirrors - their bodies distorted like the dreams they once had. today on the pier the rain that's now falling falls from a same sky on a same sand and same sea - on a same me yet this air - this air is not the same air as that air I once breathed.