The Seaside, by Antony Schelts

“The yawning mighty ocean tired from its task,
Inhaling yoghurt pots and indisposable memories,
Exhaling it’s sodium polystyrene. Cafés dishing up plastic fish on plates of mercury.

Souvenirs of bygone happiness, soaked in flavoured ice. Arcades of candied rock and buzzing machines.
It spits and piers echoed by screaming children.

Pavements gritted with shoes filled with sand,
Streets pounded by the nuclear families holding secrets. Melting castles under the beating sun. Coated by the tide of oil.”