I walk out on to the strand
the only person around,
my shoes sinking some way
in to the fine washed sand.

The world of the town
is stacking high behind me
like multi-coloured pieces
of sweet rock and bubble gum

with the long line of beach huts
parading before them –
those little homes for the English
never wanting for their English tea

and comic newspapers
which they still read and believe.
But none of them are here now.
I’m looking out to the flat horizon,

a line of dark blue beyond
this stretch of local turquoise sea.
Somewhere around here,
maybe even on this easterly shore,

my DNA must have arrived
via Angle, Cimbri and La Tene,
a strand on this strand
in these islands afar.

copyright Francis Barker 2019