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beside the seaside.

 

kids today –

look at 'em

snivelling

puking

smoking furtively

in uniform

all anger & snot

tattoos & knives

hunkered down

huddled together

 

and what a din

 

as the landing

craft ramp lets loose it's chains

and a flurry of lead

flies in

and instantly

withers their feeble braggadocio

 - leaving a mulch of olive drab

flailing, flapping, floating

in the pink spume.

 

there's brains on my pips

as I cry in the marron grass

& fidget with a tinplate clicker

and a map of silk

 - strange mementos of dreams

that surface

and scurry away.