Squinting at the sun

by John Smallshaw
(London, England)

Nothing beats being beside the sea
With a stick of Blackpool rock
My only company.

This crock is old
Can hardly unfold the deckchair
"Hey you there..
..young chap..give me a hand" "

"Alright grandad..keep your hair on",
..he replied.

The tide is still out but it's on the turn
I want to sit in the sun
And I still want to burn
Never learn.
I know that it's wrong..
but at my age..anything that lasts for long is a treat.

No.
Nothing beats being beside the sea
Just me on my own
Where the sand is becoming my second home..
..and the seagulls all know me by name.
But still krap on me all the same.
I think it is part of the game that we play.
Sitting and wasting what's left of my life away.

I stay for a while..looking up..looking down the old golden mile
Can't see any gold
Another tale I was told that just wasn't true.
But the sky is real blue and that's worth its weight..
..in diamonds..but I'll stick to my stick of Blackpool rock.
Should have got a sun block..my head's burnt red
Never..never learn
Time for bed.

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