Greetings from the quayside.
It is completely gentrified; I cannot afford an iced tea.
At least the view is beautiful – and free!

I am so happy I do not live here any more.

Work’s only hard for the first forty years.
Pain is tolerable when you get used to it.
If you don’t have money for your deposit you cannot afford the rest.

Treat food as fuel for your body, taste is unnecessary.
If you enjoy it, it’s probably bad for you.

Don’t be depressed, do something else.
I never had time for stress, you must have too much free time.
We all die anyway.

Life is tough.
You don’t need to be.

On a good Friday
You visited
I remember the rain

As I ran to you
You said your smallness
Allows you to dodge the raindrops

You did not wear your coat
Sparkle Star in your backpack
A smile on your face

Like your mother

Attempting a straight selvedge
In front of my family

Funny antics from
This frayed aunt

Divert attention

Six pasta parcels presented themselves on the plate. Red wine jus dripped from the glass menagerie. Clawing at my knuckles amid chuckles from the table opposite. Peas split and I spat out my fears into the face of the person I love. We celebrated the day in our normal way, me in bed and he on a bicycle. Weaving in dream lanes lacing spokes, an articulated lorry thrust my butterbreath. My hips crumpled on the staircase as I grasped at cakes with eggs on top. A caramel catastrophe caught on camera. Gluteal muscles gnawing.

Twinging all the way to the seaside. Looking out over a wrecked cargo ship full of explosives. Sighing in the mist. We kissed.

Grimacing through the ache, en route to the lobster/love shack. You ate mussels and I cuddled a daiquiri, nursing my nerves. I sat on the shingle and wrote a poem about birth certificates and a review of Belly‘s Christmas 2022 acoustic release. Saccharine sounds soothing in the cool surf. Pirate pups on my lap, saving the day. Along with pastel-coloured stickers and washi tape.

I posted an envelope full of coasters to Wiltshire. Signing, coasters from the coast.